IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilmd  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag6e 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag6es 


□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 


D 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


0 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu6es 


□    Coloured  maps/ 
Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

□    Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


D 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualitd  in6gale  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


D 


D 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout6es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte. 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 


□    Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refiimed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure. 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  §  nouveau  de  facon  ft 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


n 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires; 


□    This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 
Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


MX 


^' 


1 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Douglas  Library 
Queen's  University 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grAce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Douglas  Library 
Queen's  University 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  i'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  ave:.  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim6e  sont  filmte  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat.  seSon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidro  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


12  3 

4  5  6 


r« 


^ 


"THE  UIKL  KISSED  THE  TIPS  OF  HER  FINGERS."— i"a^^  2. 


I- 


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■Al/S  4,S^I0iWW\: 


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•"Wife.  i/.'M,  KISSfc,lJ  Tin:   TIPS  <M''  HKK    JlNvifcJ 


w 


Th 


Face  and  the  Mask 


By  ROBERT  BARR 

Ain-„o«  OP  ••  m  T„K  M„>sT  or  a,.a„ms,"  etc.,  etc. 


JUustrated  by  A.  Hencke 


»cw  Borft 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANV 

PUBLISHERS. 


V 


u 


■aa 


^sd^^3.  r"/if«  f  3    yt^-^' 


Copyright^  i8gj  and  i8g4^  by 
ROBERT  BARR 

Copyright^  i8g^,  by 
FREDERICK  A,  STOKES  COMPANY 


''^:i 


THE  HON.  WILLIAM  E.  QUINBY 

{United  States  Minister  to  the  Netherlands) 

HAS    HELPED    SO   MANY   UNKNOWN   LITERARY  AS- 
PIRANTS THAT   HE  CAN    HARDLY  HAVE  HOPEL 
TO  ESCAPE  THE  DEDICATION  TO  HIM   OF 
A  BOOK  BY  AT  LEAST  ONE  OF  THEM 


3C>5Un^'7 


r~ 


CONTENTS. 


I 


34 

42 
54 
65 

79 
98 

III 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  WOMAN  OF  STONE          .           .        I 

II.  THE  CHEMISTRY  OF  ANARCHY    .      lO 

III.  THE  FEAR  OF  IT  .           .           .2$ 

IV.  THE  METRMORPHOSES  OF  JOHN- 

SON       

V.  THE  RECLAMATION  OF  JOE  HOL- 
LENDS          .... 

VI.  THE  TYPE-WRITTEN  LETTER 

VII.  THE  DOOM  OF  LONDON 

VIII.  THE  PREDICAMENT  OF  DE  PLON- 
VILLE           .... 

IX.  A  NEW  EXPLOSIVE      ,  . 

X.  THE  GREAT  PEGRAM  MYSTERY   . 

XI.  DEATH  COMETH    SOON  OR  LATE    1 24 

XII.  HIGH  STAKES        .          .          .           .    I32 

XIII.  "  WHERE  IGNORANCE  IS   BLISS  "    I43 

XIV.  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  CUB  M'LEAN    I53 
XV.  OLD  NUMBER  EIGHTY-SIX  .           .    161 

XVI.  PLAYING  WITH    MARKED  CARDS    169 

XVII.  THE  BRUISER'S  COURTSHIP          .    178 

XVIII.  THE  RAID  ON  MELLISH         ..          .   189 

XIX.  STRIKING  BACK    .           ,           .           .   200 

XX.  CRANDALL'S  CHOICE    .           .          .  209 

XXI.  THE   FAILURE  OF  BRADLEY          ,   21 5 

XXII.  RINGAMY'S  convert   .          .          .   222 

XXIII.  A  SLIPPERY  CUSTOMER  .  .  228 

XXIV.  THE  SIXTH  BENCH         .  .  .   243 


PAGE 

• 

I 

• 

lO 

• 

2^ 

^r- 

• 

34 

L- 

42 

54 

65 

N- 

79 

98 

Y   . 

III 

TE 

124 

132 

S  " 

143 

AN 

153 

• 

161 

DS  169 
.  178 
.  189 
.  2CX) 
.  209 
.  215 
.  222 
.  228 

.  243 


T/ie  Personal  Con- 
ductor: "  It  is  a  statue 
of  no  importance  what- 


ever. 


II 


77ii'  Personally  Con- 
line  ted:  "Yes,  but 
what  does  it  mean?  " 

The  Personal  Con- 
ductor :  "I  don't  sup- 
pose it  means  anything 
in  particular.  It  is  not 
by  any  well-known 
artist  and  the  guide- 
books say  nothing 
about  it.  " 

The  Personally  Con- 
ducted :  "Perhaps 
the  sculptor  intended 
to  typify  life  ;  the  tragic 
face  representing  one 
side  of  ex'stence  and 
the  comic  mask  an- 
other. '' 

The     Personal    Con- 
ductor :    "  Very  likely. 
.  .  This  way  to  the  Louvre, 
if  you  jDlease." 


c 
<. 

c 
e 
r 
t 
t 
n 
c 
b 
r 
t 
r 

V 
V 

g 
h 

1 

F 

g 
ir 

h 

1 

n 

d 

n 

P 

t\ 

S 

SI 


THE  WOMAN  OF  STONE. 


"t'i'r 


LuRiNE,  was  pretty,  petite,  and  eighteen. 
She  had  a  nice  situation  at  the  Pharmacie  de 
Siam,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  She  had  no  one 
dependent  upon  her,  and  all  the  money  she 
earned  was  her  own.  Her  dress  was  of  cheap 
material  perhaps,  but  it  was  cut  and  fitted  with 
that  daintiness  of  perfection  which  seems  to  be 
the  natural  gift  of  the  Parisienne,  so  that  one 
never  thought  of  the  cheapness,  but  admired 
only  the  effect,  which  was  -  harming.  She  was 
book-keeper  and  general  assistant  at  the  Phar- 
macie, and  had  a  little  room  of  her  own  across 
the  Seine,  in  the  Rue  de  Lille.  She  crossed  the 
river  twice  every  day — once  in  the  morning 
when  the  sun  was  shining,  and  again  at  night 
when  the  radiant  lights  along  the  river's  bank 
glittered  like  jewels  in  a  long  necklace.  She  had 
her  little  walk  through  the  Gardens  of  the 
Tuileries  every  morning  after  crossing  the  Pom 
Royal,  but  she  did  not  return  through  the 
gardens  in  the  evening,  for  a  park  in  the  morn- 
ing is  a  different  thing  to  a  park  at  night.  On 
her  return  she  always  walked  along  the  Rue  de 
Tuileries  until  she  came  to  the  bridge.  Her 
morning  ramble  through  the  gardens  was  a 
daily  delight  to  her,  for  the  Rue  de  Lille  is 
narrow,  and  not  particularly  bright,  so  it  was 
pleasant  to  walk  beneath  the  green  trees,  to  feel 
the  crisp  gravel  under  her  feet,  and  to  see  the 
gleaming  white  statues  in  the  sunlight,  with  the 
sparkle  on  the  round  fountain  pond,  by  the  side 


!ia 


2  ^be  face  and  tbe  AaeK* 

of  which  she  sometimes  sat.  Her  favorite 
statue  was  one  of  a  woman  that  stood  on  a  ped- 
estal near  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  The  arm  was 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  there  was  a  smile  on 
the  marble  face  which  was  inscrutable.  It 
fascinated  the  girl  as  she  looked  up  to  it,  and 
seemed  to  be  the  morning  greeting  to  her  busy 
day's  work  in  the  city.  If  no'*onewas  in  sight, 
which  was  often  the  case  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  the  girl  kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers, 
and  tossed  the  salute  airily  up  to  the  statue, 
and  the  woman  of  stone  always  smiled  back  at 
her  the  strange  mystical  smile  which  seemed  to 
indicate  that  it  knew  much  more  of  this  world 
and  its  ways  than  did  the  little  Parisienne  who 
daily  gazed  up  at  her. 

Lurine  was  happy,  as  a  matter  of  course,  for 
was  not  Paris  always  beautiful  }  Dia  not  the 
sun  shine  brightly  .'*  And  was  not  the  air 
always  clear  }  What  more,  then,  could  a  young 
girl  wish  }  There  was  one  thing  which  was 
perhaps  lacking,  but  that  at  last  was  supplied  ; 
and  then  there  ^vas  not  a  happier  girl  in  all 
Paris  than  Lurine.  She  almost  cried  it  aloud 
to  her  favorite  statue  the  next  morning,  for  it 
seemed  to  her  that  the  smile  had  broadened 
since  she  had  passed  it  the  morning  before,  and 
she  felt  as  if  the  woman  of  stone  had  guessed 
the  secret  of  the  woman  of  flesh. 

Lurine  had  noticed  him  for  several  days 
hovering  about  the  Pharmacie,  and  looking  in 
at  her  now  and  then  ;  she  saw  it  all,  but  pre- 
tended not  to  see.  He  was  a  handsome  young 
fellow  with  curly  hair,  and  hands  long,  slender, 
and  white  as  if  he  were  not  accustomed  to  doing 
hard,  manual  labor.  One  night  he  followed  her 
as  far  as  the  bridge,  but  she  walked  rapidly  on, 
and  he  iid  not  overtake  her.  He  never  entered 
the  Pharmacie,  but  lingered  about  as  if  waiting 
for  a  chance  to  speak  with  her.     Lurine  had  no 


XLbc  TOoman  ot  Stone, 


favorite 
n  a  ped- 
irm  was 
smile  on 
ble.  It 
►  it,  and 
ler  busy 
in  sight, 
:k  in  the 

fingers, 
e  statue, 

back  at 
lemed  to 
lis  world 
nne  who 

urse,  for 
.  not  the 
:  the  air 
I  a  young 
hich  was 
supplied  ; 
irl  in  all 

it  aloud 
g,  for  it 
roadened 
fore,  and 

guessed 

ral  days 
)oking  in 
but  pre- 
ne  young 
slender, 
to  doing 
Dwed  her 
pidly  on, 
r  entered 
waiting 
le  had  no 


'^m 


ne  to  confide  in  but  the  woman  of  stone,  and 

seemed   by  her  smile  that  she   understood 
Iready,  and  there  was  no  need  to  tell  her,  that 

e  inevitable  young  man  had  come.  The  next 
ight  he  followed  her  quite  across  the  bridge, 
and  this  time  Lurine  did  not  walk  so  quickly. 
Girls  in  her  position  are  not  supposed  to  have 
formal  introductions  to  their  lovers,  and  are 
generally  dependent  upon  a  haphazard  acquaint- 
ance, although  that  Lurine  did  not  know.  The 
young  man  spoke  to  her  on  the  bridge,  raising 
his  hat  from  his  black  head  as  he  did  so. 

"  Good  evening  !  "  was  all  he  said  to  her. 

She  glanced  sideways  shyly  at  him,  but  did 
not  answer,  and  the  young  man  walked  on 
llcside  her. 

"  You  come  this  way  every  night,"  he  said. 
**  I  have  been  watching  you.  Are  you 
ifffended  ?  " 

•'  No,"  she  answered,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
^  "  Then  may  I  walk  with  you  to  your  home  ?  " 
Jbe  asked. 

"  You  may  walk  with  me  as  far  as  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  de  Lille,"  she  replied. 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  young  fellow,  and 
together  they  walked  the  short  distance,  and 
there  he  bade  her  good  night,  after  asking  per- 
inission  to  meet  her  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St. 
Honore,  and  walk  home  with  her,  the  next 
night. 

"  You  must  not  come  to  the  shop,"  she  said. 

"  I  understand,"  he  replied,  nodding  his  head 
In  assent  to  her  wishes.  He  told  her  his  name 
"i^'as  Jean  Duret,  and  by-and-by  she  called  him 
lean,  and  he  called  her  Lurine.  He  never 
haunted  the  Pharmacie  now,  but  waited  for  her 
at  the  corner,  and  one  Sunday  he  took  her  for 
a  little  excursion  on  the  river,  which  she  enjoyed 
exceedingly.  Thus  time  went  on,  and  Lurine 
v-'as  very  happy.    The  statue  smiled  its  enigmat- 


{ 


4  ^be  jface  anO  tbe  ^aefi. 

ical  smile,  though,  when  the  sky  was  overcast, 
there  seemed  to  her  a  subtle  warning  in  the 
smile.  Perhaps  it  was  because  they  had 
quarrelled  the  night  before.  Jean  had  seemed 
to  her  harsh  and  unforgiving.  He  had  asked 
her  if  she  could  not  bring  him  some  things  from 
the  Pharmacie,  and  gave  her  a  list  of  three 
chemicals,  the  names  of  which  he  had  written 
on  a  paper. 

"You  can  easily  get  them,"  he  had  said; 
"  they  are  in  every  Pharmacie,  and  will  never 
be  missed." 

"  But,"  said  the  girl  in  horror,  "  that  would  be 
stealing." 

The  young  man  laughed. 

"  How  much  do  they  pay  you  there  ? "  he 
asked.  And  when  she  told  him,  he  laughed 
again  and  said, 

"  Why,  bless  you,  if  I  got  so  little  as  that  I 
would  take  something  from  the  shelves  every 
day  and  sell  it.'' 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  he, 
angry  at  her,  turned  upon  his  heel  and  left  her. 
She  leaned  her  arms  upon  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge,  and  looked  down  :  ">  the  dark  water. 
The  river  always  fascinated  aer  at  night,  and 
she  often  paused  to  look  at  it  when  crossing  the 
bridge,  shuddering  as  she  did  so.  She  cried  a 
little  as  she  thought  of  his  abrupt  departure, 
and  wondered  if  she  had  been  too  harsh  with 
him.  After  all,  it  was  not  very  much  he  had 
asked  her  to  do,  and  they  did  pay  her  so  little 
at  the  Pharmacie.  And  then  perhaps  her  lover 
was  poor,  and  needed  the  articles  he  had  asked 
her  to  get.  Perhaps  he  was  ill,  and  had  said 
nothing.  There  was  a  touch  on  her  shoulder. 
She  looked  round.  Jean  was  standing  beside 
her,  but  the  frown  had  not  yet  disappeared 
from  his  brow. 

"  Give  me  that  paper,"  he  said,  abruptly. 


Dvercast, 
g  in  the 
ley  had 
1  seemed 
id  asked 
ngs  from 
of  three 
i  written 

lad  said; 
vill  never 

would  be 


lere  ?  "  he 
e  laughed 

;  as  that  I 
Ives  every 

nt,  and  he, 
d  left  her. 
pet  of  the 
ark  water, 
night,  and 
ossing  the 
le  cried  a 
eparture, 
larsh  ynth 
ch  he  had 
er  so  little 
her  lover 
lad  asked 
had  said 
shoulder, 
ing  beside 
isappeared 

-uptly. 


Ebc  Moman  ot  Stone.  5 

She  unclosed  her  hand,  and  he  picked  the 
aper  from  it,  and  was  turning  away. 

**  Stop  1  "  she  said.  "  I  will  get  you  what  you 
rant,  but  I  will  myself  put  the  money  in  the  till 

r  what  they  cost." 

He  stood  there,  looking  at  her  for  a  moment, 

d  then  said — "  Lurine,  1  think  you  are  a  little 

ol.     They  owe  you  ever  so  much  more  than 

at.  However,  I  must  have  the  things,"  and 
ht  gave  her  back  the  paper  with  the  caution — 

"Be  sure  you  let  no  one  see  that,  and  be 
very  certain  that  you  get  the  right  things."  He 
walked  with  her  as  far  as  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
de  Lille.  "  You  are  not  angry  with  me  ?  "  he 
aiked  her  before  they  parted. 

*•  1  would  do  anything  for  you,"  she  whispered, 
aod  then  he  kissed  her  good  night. 

She  got  the  chemicals  when  the  proprietor 
Has  out,  and  tied  them  up  neatly,  as  was  her 
Ipbit,  afterwards  concealing  them  in  the  little 
hftsket  in  which  she  carried    her  lunch.     The 

Coprietor    was   a  sharp-eyed    old    lyn.x,   who 
Dked  well  after  his  shop  and  hi  s  pretty  little 
tisistant. 

"  Who  has  been  getting  so  much  chlorate  of 

Ctash  ? "  he  asked,  taking  down  the  jar,  and 
)king  sharply  at  her. 
The  girl  trembled. 
^  *'  It  is  all   right,"   she   said.     "  Here  is  the 
.^ney  in  the  till." 

"Of  course,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  expect 
jou  to  give  it  away  for  nothing.     Who  bought 


"  An  old  man,"  replied  the  girl,  trembling 
11,  but  the  proprietor  did  not  notice  that — he 
s  counting  the  money,  and  found  it  right. 
**  I  was  wondering  what  he  wanted  with  so 
uch  of  it.  If  he  comes  in  again  look  sharply 
him,  and  be  able  to  describe  him  to  me.  It 
ems  suspicious."     W^hy  it  seemed  suspicious 


i 


f; 


1 


6  Zbc  jface  art)  tbe  Abaaft. 

Lurine  did  not  know,  but  she  passed  an  anxious 
time  until  she  took  the  basket  in  her  hand  and 
went  to  meet  her  lover  at  the  corner  of  the  kue 
des  Pyramides.     His  first  question  was — 

''  Have  you  brought  me  the  things  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Will  you  take 
them  here,  now  ?  " 

"  Not  here,  not  here,"  he  replied  hurriedly, 
and  then  asked  anxiously,  "  Did  anyone  see 
you  take  them  ?  " 

"  No,  but  the  proprietor  knows  of  the  large 
package,  for  he  counted  the  money.'' 

"  What  money  ?  "  asked  Jean. 

"  Why,  the  money  for  the  things.  You 
didn't  think  I  was  going  to  steal  them,  did 
you  ?  " 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  drew  her  into 
a  quiet  corner  of  the  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries. 

*'  I  will  not  have  time  to  go  with  you  to  the 
Rue  de  Lille  to-night,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  will  come  as  usual  to-morrow 
night  ?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Certainly,  certainly."  he  replied,  as  he 
rapidly  concealed  the  packages  in  his  pockets. 

The  next  night  the  girl  waited  patiently  for 
her  lover  at  the  corner  where  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  meeting,  but  he  did  not  come.  She 
stood  under  the  glaring  light  of  a  lamp-post  so 
that  he  would  recognize  her  at  once.  Many 
people  accosted  her  as  she  stood  there,  but  she 
answered  none,  looking  straight  before  her  with 
clear  honest  eyes,  and  they  passed  on  after  a 
moment's  hesitation.  At  last  she  saw  a  man 
running  rapidly  down  the  street,  and  as  he 
passed  a  Li  illiantly-lighted  window  she  recog- 
nized Jean.     He  came  quickly  towards  her. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  cried,  running  forward. 
She  caught  him  by  the  arm,  saying,  "  Oh,  Jean, 
what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

He  shook  her  rudely,  and  shouted   at  her — 


-morrow 


Zbc  Moman  ot  Stone.  7 

"  Let  me  go,  you  fool ! "  But  she  clung  to 
him,  until  he  raised  his  fist  and  struck  her 
squarely  in  the  face.  Lurine  staggered  against 
the  wall,  and  Jean  ran  on.  A  stalwart  man 
who  had  spoken  to  Lurine  a  few  moments  be- 
fore, and,  not  understanding  her  silence,  stood 
in  a  doorway  near  watching  her,  sprang  out 
when  he  saw  the  assault,  and  thrust  his  stick 
between  the  feet  of  the  flying  man,  flinging  him 
face  forward  on  the  pavement.  The  next  in- 
stant he  placed  his  foot  upon  Jean's  neck  hold- 
|ing  him  down  as  'f  he  were  a  snake. 

"  You  villain !  "  he  cried.  •*  Strike  a  woman, 
[would  you  ?  " 

Jean  lay  there  as  if  stunned,  and  two  gens 
i'armes  came  pantingly  upon  the  scene. 

"  This  scoundrel,"  said  the  man,  "  has  just 
issaulted  a  woman.     I  saw  him." 

"  He  has  done  more  than  that,"  said  one  of 
the  officers,  grimly,  as  if,  after  all,  the  striking 
if  a  woman  was  but  a  trivial  affair. 

They  secured  the  young  man,  and  dragged 
lim  with  them.  The  girl  came  up  to  them 
md  said,  falteringly — 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,  it  was  an  accident.  He 
lidn't  mean  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  he  didn't,  and  pray  how  do  you  know  }  " 
[asked  one  of  the  officers. 

"You  little  devil,"  said  Jean  to  the  girl, 
[through  his  clinched  teeth.  "  it's  all  your  fault." 

The  officers  hurried  him  off. 

"  I  think,"  said   one,  "  that   we   should   have 
iarrested  the  girl ;  you  heard  what  she  said." 
I     ••  Yes,"  said  the  other,  ••  but  we  have  enough 
on  our  hands  now,  if  the   crowd  find  out  who 
ihe  is." 

Lurine  thought  of  following  them,  but  she 
was  so  stunned  by  the  words  that  her  lover 
had  said  to  her,  rather  than  by  the  blow  he 
had  given  her  that  she  turned  her  steps   sadly 


'(      ir 


msm 


8 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  ASasli. 


towards  the  Pont  Royal  and  went  to  her 
room. 

The  next  morning  she  did  not  go  through  the 
gardens,  as  usual,  to  her  work,  and  when  she  en- 
tered the  Pharmacie  de  Siam,  the  proprietor  cried 
out,  "  Here  she  is,  the  vixen  !  Who  would  have 
thought  it  of  her  ?  You  wretch,  you  stole  my 
drugs  to  give  to  that  villain  !  " 

'•  I  did  not,"  said  Lurine,  stoutly.  "  I  put  the 
money  in  the  till  for  them." 

"  Hear  her  !  She  confesses  ! "  said  the  propri- 
etor. 

The  two  concealed  officers  stepped  forward 
and  arrested  her  where  she  stood  as  the  accom- 
plice of  Jean  Duret,  who,  the  night  before,  had 
flung  a  bomb  in  the  crowded  Avenue  de  I'Opera. 

Even  the  prejudiced  French  judges  soon  saw 
that  the  girl  was  innocent  of  all  evil  intent,  and 
was  but  the  victim  of  the  scoundrel  who  passed 
by  the  name  of  Jean  Duret.  He  was  sentenced 
for  life  ;  she  was  set  free.  He  had  tried  to 
place  the  blame  on  her,  like  the  craven  he  was, 
to  shield  another  woman.  This  was  what  cut 
Lurine  to  the  heart.  She  might  have  tried  to 
find  an  excuse  for  his  crime,  but  she  realized 
that  he  had  never  cared  for  her,  and  had  but 
used  her  as  his  tool  to  get  possession  of  the 
chemicals  he  dared  not  buy. 

In  the  drizzling  rain  she  walked  away  from  her 
prison,  penniless,  and  broken  in  body  and  in 
spirit.  She  passed  the  litttle  Pharmacie  de  Siam, 
not  daring  to  enter.  She  walked  in  the  rain  along 
the  Rue  des  Pyramides.  and  across  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  and  into  the  Tuileries  Gardens.  She 
had  forgotten  about  her  stone  woman,  but,  un- 
consciously her  steps  were  directed  to  her. 
She  looked  up  at  her  statue  with  amazement,  at 
first  not  recognizing  it.  It  was  no  longer  the 
statue  of  a  smiling  woman.  The  head  was 
thrown  back,  the  eyes  closed.     The  last  mortal 


Zbc  liCloman  of  Stone. 


to   her 

igh  the 
she  en- 
or  cried 
Id  have 
tole  my 

put  the 

propri- 


forward 

accom- 

ore,  had 

rOpera. 

)on  saw 

mt,  and 

passed 
ntenced 

tried  to 

^^/i 

he  was, 

^B^'%'/t 

^hat  cut 

tried  to 

realized 

had  but 

of  the 

rom  her 

'  and  in 

de  Siam, 

tin  along 
Rue  de 

is.     She 

Ih 

but,  un- 

to  her. 

ment,  at 

iger  the 
ead  was 

t  mortal 

a.^ony  was  on  the  face.  It  was  a  ghastly  mon- 
ument to  Death.  The  girl  was  so  perplexed  by 
the  change  in  her  statue  that  for  the  moment 
she  forgot  the  ruin  of  her  own  life.  She  saw 
that  the  smiling  face  was  but  a  mask,  held  in 
place  by  the  curving  of  the  left  arm  over  it. 
Lile,  she  realized  now,  was  made  up  of  tragedy 
and  comedy,  and  he  who  sees  but  the  smiling 
face,  sees  but  the  half  of  life.  The  girl  hurried 
on  to  the  bridge,  sobbing  quietly  to  herself,  and 
looked  down  at  the  grey  river  water.  The 
passers-by  paid  no  attention  to  her.  Why,  she 
wondered,  had  she  ever  thought  the  river  cold 
and  cruel  and  merciless  ?  It  is  the  only  home 
of  the  homeless,  the  only  lover  that  does  not 
change.  She  turned  back  to  the  top  of  the 
flight  of  steps  which  lead  down  to  the  water's 
brink.  She  looked  toward  the  Tuileries  Gar- 
dens, but  she  could  not  see  her  statue  for  the 
trees  which  intervened.  *'  I,  too,  will  be  a 
woman  of  stone,"  she  said,  as  she  swiftly  de- 
scended the  steps. 


"  )' 


't 


I 


THE   CHEMISTRY    OF       ' 
ANARCHY. 

It  has  been  said  in  the  London  papers  that 
the  dissolution  of  the  Soho  Anarchist  League 
was  caused  by  want  of  funds.  This  is  very  far 
from  being  the  case.  An  Anarchist  League 
has  no  need  for  funds,  and  so  long  as  there  is 
money  enough  to  buy  beer  the  League  is  sure 
of  continued  existence.  The  truth  about  the 
scattering  of  the  Soho  organization  was  told 
me  by  a  young  newspaper-man  who  was  chair- 
man at  the  last  meeting. 

The  young  man  was  not  an  anarchist,  though 
he  had  to  pretend  to  be  one  in  the  interests  of 
his  paper,  and  so  joined  the  Soho  League, 
where  he  made  some  fiery  speeches  that  were 
much  applauded.  At  last  Anarchist  news  be- 
came a  drug  in  the  market,  and  the  editor  of 
the  paper  young  Marshall  Simkins  belonged  to, 
told  him  that  he  would  now  have  to  turn  his 
attention  to  Parliamentary  work,  as  he  would 
print  no  more  Anarchist  news  in  the  sheet. 

One  might  think  that  young  Simkins  would 
have  been  glad  to  get  rid  of  his  Anarchist  work, 
as  he  had  no  love  for  the  cause.  He  was  glad 
to  get  rid  of  it,  but  he  found  some  difficulty  in 
sending  in  his  resignation.  The  moment  he 
spoke  of  resigning,  the  members  became  suspi- 
cious of  him.  He  had  always  been  rather 
better  dressed  than  the  others,  and,  besides,  he 
drank  less  beer.  If  a  man  wishes  to  be  in  good 
standing  in  the  League  he  must  not  be  fastidi- 
ous as  to  dress,  and  he  must  be  constructed  to 
hold  at  least  a  gallon  of  beer  at  a  sitting.  Sim- 
kins was  merely  a  "  quart  "  man,  and  this  would 


I 


XLbc  Cbemistris  ot  Bnarcbi^. 


II 


have  told  against  him  all  along  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  extra  gunpowder  he  put  in  his 
speeches.  On  several  occasions  seasoned  An- 
archists had  gathered  about  him  and  begged 
him  to  giv3  up  his  designs  on  the  Parliament 
buildings. 

The  older  heads  claimed  that,  desirable  as 
was  the  obliteration  of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  time  was  not  yet  ripe  for  it.  Eng- 
land, they  pointed  out,  was  the  only  place 
where  Anarchists  could  live  and  talk  unmo- 
lested, so,  while  they  were  quite  £<.nxious  that 
Simkins  should  go  and  blow  up  Vienna,  Berlin, 
or  Paris,  they  were  not  willing  for  him  to  begin 
on  London.  Simkins  was  usually  calmed  down 
with  much  difficulty,  and  finally,  after  hissing 
"Cowards!"  two  or  three  times  under  his 
breath,  he  concluded  with,  "  Oh,  very  well, 
then,  you  know  better  than  I  do— I  am  only  a 
young  recruit ;  but  allow  me  at  least  to  blow 
up  Waterloo  Bridge,  or  spring  a  bomb  in  Fleet 
Street  just  to  show  that  we  are  up  and  doing." 

But  this  the  Anarchists  would  not  sanction. 
If  he  wanted  to  blow  up  bridges,  he  could  try 
his  hand  on  those  across  the  Seine.  They  had 
given  their  word  that  there  would  be  no  explo- 
sions in  London  so  long  as  England  afforded 
them  an  asylum. 

"  But  look  at  Trafalgar  Square,"  cried  Sim- 
kins angrily ;  *'  we  are  not  allowed  to  meet 
there." 

•'  Who  wants  to  meet  there  ?  "  said  the  chair- 
man. "  It  is  ever  so  much  more  comfortable 
in  these  rooms,  and  there  is  no  beer  in  Trafal- 
gar Square."  "  Yes,  yes,"  put  in  several 
others  ;  "  the  time  is  not  yet  ripe  for  it."  Thus 
was  Simkins  calmed  down,  and  beer  allowed  to 
flow  again  in  tranquillity,  while  some  foreign 
Anarchist,  who  was  not  allowed  to  set  foot  in 
his  native  country,  would  get  up  and  harangue 


la 


ZTbe  jface  and  tbe  /Ibasft* 


the  crowd  in  broken  English  and  tell  them 
what  great  things  would  yet  be  done  by  dyn- 
amite. 

But  when  Simkins  sent  in  his  resignation  a 
change  came  over  their  feelings  towards  him, 
and  he  saw  at  once  that  he  was  a  marked  man. 
The  chairman,  in  a  whisper,  advised  him  to 
withdraw  his  resignation.  So  Simkins,  who 
was  a  shrewd  young  fellow,  understanding  the 
temper  of  the  assembly,  arose  and  said  : — 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  resign,  but  you  do 
nothing  except  talk,  and  I  want  to  belong  to  an 
Anarchist  Society  that  acts."  He  stayed  away 
from  the  next  meeting,  and  tried  to  drop  them 
in  that  way,  but  a  committee  from  the  League 
called  upon  him  at  his  lodgings,  and  his  land- 
lady thought  that  young  Simkins  had  got  into 
bad  ways  when  he  had  such  evil-looking  men 
visiting  him. 

Simkins  was  in  a  dilemma,  and  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  The  Anarchists 
apparently  were  not  to  be  shaken  off.  He  ap- 
plied to  his  editor  for  advice  on  the  situation, 
but  that  good  man  could  think  of  no  way  out 
of  the  trouble. 

"  You  ought  to  have  known  better,"  he  said, 
"  than  to  mix  up  with  such  people." 

"  But  how  was  I  to  get  the  news  ?  "  asked 
Simkins,  with  some  indignation.  The  editor 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  That  was  not  his  part 
of  the  business  ;  and  if  the  Anarchists  chose  to 
make  things  uncomfortable  for  the  young  man, 
he  could  not  help  it. 

Simkins'  fellow-lodger,  a  student  who  was 
studying  chemistry  in  London,  noticed  that  the 
reporter  was  becoming  gaunt  with  anxiety. 

"  Simkins,"  said  Sedlitz  to  him  one  morning, 
**  you  are  haggard  and  careworn :  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  Are  you  in  love,  or  is  it 
merely  debt  that  is  bothering  you  }  " 


(•il 


^be  Cbemtstrg  of  Bnarcb^, 


«3 


*'  Neither,"  replied  Simkins. 

••  Then  cheer  up,"  said  Sedlitz.  "  If  one  or 
the  other  is  not  interfering  with  you,  anything 
else  is  easily  remedied." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  rejoined  Sim- 
kins  ;  and  then  he  sat  down  and  told  his  friend 
just  what  was  troubling  him. 

"Ah,"  said  Sedlitz,  "that  accounts  for  it. 
There  has  been  an  unkempt  ruffian  marching 
up  and  down  watching  this  house.  They  are 
on  your  track,  Simkins,  my  boy,  and  when  they 
discover  that  you  are  a  reporter,  and  therefore 
necessarily  a  traitor,  you  will  be  nabbed  some 
dark  night." 

"  Well,  that's  encouraging,"  said  Simkins, 
with  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  Are  these  Anarchists  brave  men,  and 
would  they  risk  their  lives  in  any  undertaking  ?  " 
asked  Sedlitz. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  They  talk  enough,  but 
I  don't  know  what  they  would  do.  They  are 
quite  capable,  though,  of  tripping  me  up  in  a 
dark  lane." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Sedlitz,  "  suppose  you  let 
me  try  a  plan.  Let  me  give  them  a  lecture  on 
the  (Chemistry  of  Anarchy.  It's  a  fascinating 
subject." 

•*  What  good  would  that  do  }  " 

"  Oh,  wait  till  you  have  heard  the  lecture. 
If  I  don't  make  the  hair  of  some  of  them  stand 
on  end,  they  are  braver  men  than  I  take  them 
to  be.  We  have  a  large  room  in  Clement's 
Ini  where  we  students  meet  to  try  experi- 
ments and  smoke  tobacco.  It  is  half  club,  and 
half  a  lecture-room.  Now,  I  propose  to  get 
those  Anarchists  in  there,  lock  the  doors,  and 
tell  them  something  about  dynamite  and  other 
explosives.  You  give  out  that  I  am  an 
Anarchist  from  America.  Tell  them  that  the 
doors  will  be  locked  to  prevent  police  interfer- 


'I      ' 


I     I 


14 


^bv  jface  anD  tbc  /B^aelt. 


i 


ence,  and  that  there  will  be  a  barrel  of  beer. 
You  can  introduce  me  as  a  man  from  America, 
where  they  know  as  much  about  Anarchism  in 
ten  minutes  as  they  do  here  in  ten  years.  Tell 
them  that  1  have  spent  my  life  in  the  study  of 
explosives.  I  will  have  to  make-up  a  little,  but 
you  know  that  I  am  a  very  good  amateur  actor, 
and  I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  trouble 
about  that.  At  the  last  you  must  tell  them 
that  you  have  an  appointment  and  will  leave 
me  to  amuse  them  for  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  But  1  don't  see  what  good  it  is  all  going  to 
do,  though  I  am  desperate  "  said  Simkins,  "  an  ^ 
willing  to  try  anything.  1  have  thought  some 
of  firing  a  bomb  off  myself  at  an  Anarchist  meet- 
mg." 

When  the  Friday  night  of  meeting  arrived  the 
large  hall  in  Clement's  Inn  was  tilled  to  the 
doors.  Those  assembled  there  saw  a  platform 
at  one  end  of  the  apartment,  and  a  door  that  led 
from  it  to  a  room  at  the  back  of  the  hall.  A 
table  was  on  the  platform,  and  boxes,  chemical 
apparatus,  and  other  scientific-looking  parapher- 
nalia were  on  it.  At  the  hour  of  eight  young 
Simkins  appeared  before  the  table  alone. 

"  Fellow  Anarchists,"  he  said,  "  you  are  well 
aware  that  I  am  tired  of  the  great  amount  of 
talk  we  indulge  in,  and  the  little  action  which 
follows  it.  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  the  co-operation  of  an  Anarchist  from 
America,  who  will  tell  you  something  of  the 
cause  there.  We  have  had  the  doors  locked,  and 
those  who  keep  the  keys  are  now  down  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Inn,  so  that  if  a  fire  should  oc- 
cur they  can  quickly  come  and  let  us  out.  There 
is  no  great  danger  of  fire,  however,  but  the  in- 
terruption of  the  police  must  be  guarded  against 
very  carefully.  The  windows,  as  you  see,  are 
shuttered  and  barred,  and  no  ray  of  light  can 
penetrate  from  this  room  outside.     Until  the 


dbc  CbcmiatcB  ot  Bnarcbg. 


beer, 
lerica, 
5m  in 

Tell 
idy  of 
e,  but 
actor, 
-ouble 

them 

leave 

ling  to 

,"an  ' 

some 

meet- 

^ed  the 
to  the 
atform 
hat  led 
ill.  A 
lemical 
■apher- 
young 

re  well 

Dunt  of 

I  which 

ugh  to 

from 

of  the 

ed,  and 

at  the 

aid  oc- 

There 

the  in- 

against 

see,  are 

rht  can 

itil  the 


^  lecture  is  over  no  one  can  leave  the  room,  and 
I  by  the  same  token  no  one  can  enter  it,  which  is 
I  more  to  the  purpose. 

•'  My  friend,  Professor  Josiah  P.  Slivf  rs,  has 
devoted  his  life  to  the  Chemistry  of  Anarchy, 
which  is  the  title  of  this  lecture.  He  will  tell 
you  of  some  important  discoveries,  which  are 
now  to  be  made  known  for  the  first  time.  I  re- 
gret to  say  that  the  Professer  is  not  in  a  very  good 
state  of  health,  because  the  line  of  life  which  he 
has  adopted  has  its  drawbacks.  His  left  eye  has 
been  blown  away  by  a  premature  explosion  dur- 
ing his  experiments.  His  right  leg  is  also  per- 
manently disabled.  His  left  arm,  as  you  will 
notice,  is  in  a  sling,  having  been  injured  by  a 
little  disaster  in  his  workshop  since  he  came  to 
London.  He  is  a  man,  as  you  will  see,  devoted 
body  and  soul  to  the  cause,  so  I  hope  you  will  listen 
to  him  attentively.  I  regret  that  I  am  unable  to 
remain  with  you  to-night,  having  other  duties  to 
perform  which  are  imperative.  I  will  therefore, 
if  you  will  permit  me,  leave  by  the  back  entrance 
after  I  have  introduced  the  Professor  to  you." 

At  this  moment  the   stumping  of  a  wooden 

leg  was  heard,  and  those  in  the   audience   saw 

appear  a  man  on  crutches,  with  one  arm   in  a 

sling  and  a  bandage   over  an  eye,  although  he 

I    beamed  upon  them  benevolently  with  the  otner. 

'*  Fellow    Anarchists,"  said  Simkins,  "  allow 
,.<ine  to   introduce  to    you   Professor  Josiah  P. 
Slivers,  of  the  United  States." 

The  Professor  bowed    and   the  audience  ap- 

f  lauded.     As  soon  as  the  applause  began  the 
rofessor  held  up  his  unmaimed  arm  and  said, 
*'  Gentlemen,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  applaud." 
It  seems  the  fashion  in  America  to  address 
ill  s^    s  and  conditions  of  men  as  "  Gentlemen. '' 
he  Professor  continued,  "  I  have  here  some  ex- 
•losives  so  sensitive  that  the  slightest  vibration 
ill  cause  them  to  go  off,  and   I    therefore  ask 


i6 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  /iSaelt, 


W  h 


I 


you  to  listen  in  silence  to  what  I  have  to  say. 
I  must  particularly  ask  you  also  not  to  stamp  on 
the  floor." 

Before  these  remarks  were  concluded  Sim- 
kins  had  slipped  out  by  the  back  entrance,  and 
somehow  his  desertion  seemed  to  have  a  depres- 
sing effect  upon  the  company,  who  looked  upon 
the  broken-up  Professor  with  eyes  of  wonder 
and  apprehension. 

The  Professor  drew  towards  him  one  of  tba 
boxes  and  opened  the  lid.     He  dipped  his  one 
useful  hand  into  the  box  and,  holding  it  aloft,  al- 
lowed something  which  looked  like  wet  sawdust 
to  drip  through  his  fingers.    "  That,  gentlemen," 
he  said,  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  contempt,  "  is 
what  is  known  to  the  world  as  dynamite.    I  have 
nothing  at  all  to  say  against  dynamite.     It  has, 
in  its  day,  been  a  very  powerful  medium  througii 
which   our  opinions  have  been  imparted  to  a 
listening  world,  but  its  day  is  past.     It  is  what 
the  lumbering  stage-coach  is  to  the  locomotive, 
what  the  letter  is   to   the  telegram,  what  the 
sailing-vessel  is  to  the  steamship.     It  will   be 
my  pleasant   duty  to-night  to  exhibit  to  you  an 
explosive  so  powerful  and  deadly  that  hereafter, 
having  seen  what   it  can  accomplish,  you  will 
have  nothing   but  derision  for  such  simple  and 
harmless  compounds  as  dynamite  and  nitro- 
glycerine." 

The  Professor  looked  with  kindly  sympathy 
over  his  audience  as  b"  allowed  the  yellow  mix- 
ture to  percolate  slowly  through  his  fingers  back 
into  the  box  again.  Ever  and  anon  he  took  up 
a  fresh  handful  and  repeated  the  action. 

The  Anarchists  in  the  audience  exchanged 
uneasy  glances  one  with  the  other. 

"  Yet,"  continued  the  Professor,  "  it  will  be 
useful  for  us  to  consider  this  substance  for  a  fe\v 
moments,  if  but  for  the  purpose  of  comparison 
Here,''  he  said,  diving  his  hand  into  another  box 


^be  Cbcmi6tri2  of  Bnarcbs. 


17 


and  bringing  up  before  their  gaze  a  yellow 
brick,  "  is  dynamite  in  a  compressed  form. 
Tliere  is  enough  here  to  wreck  all  this  part  of 
London,  were  it  exploded.  This  simple  brick 
would  lay  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  in  ruins,  so,  how- 
ever antiquated  dynamite  may  become,  we 
must  always  look  upon  it  with  respect,  just  as 
we  look  upon  reformers  of  centuries  ago  who 
perished  for  their  opinions,  even  though  their 
opinions  were  far  behind  what  ours  are  now.  I 
shall  take  the  liberty  of  performing  some  exper- 
iments with  this  block  of  dynamite."  Saying 
which  the  Professor,  with  his  free  arm,  flung  the 
block  of  dynamite  far  down  the  aisle,  where  it 
fell  on  the  floor  with  a  sickening  thud.  The 
audience  sprang  from  their  seats  and  tumbled 
back  one  over  the  other.  A  wild  shriek  went 
up  into  the  air,  but  the  Professor  gazed  placidly 
on  the  troubled  mob  below  him  with  a  superior 
smile  on  his  face.  "  I  beg  you  to  seat  your- 
selves," he  said,  "  and  for  reasons  which  I  have 
already  explained,  I  trust  that  you  will  not  ap- 
plaud any  of  my  remarks.  You  have  just  now 
portrayed  one  of  the  popular  superstitions  about 
dynamite,  and  you  show  by  your  actions  how 
necessary  a  lecture  of  this  sort  is  in  order  that 
you  may  comprehend  thoroughly  the  substance 
with  which  you  have  to  deal.  '  That  brick  is 
perfectly  harmless,  because  it  is  frozen.  Dyna- 
mite in  its  frozen  state  will  not  explode — a  fact 
well  understood  by  miners  and  all  those  who 
have  to  work  with  it,  and  who,  as  a  rule,  gener- 
ally prefer  to  blow  themselves  to  pieces  trying  to 
thaw  the  substance  before  a  tire.  Will  you 
kindly  bring  that  brick  back  to  me,  before  it 
thaws  out  in  the  heated  atmosphere  of  this 
room  ?  " 

One  of  the  men  stepped  gingerly  forward  and 
picked  up  the  brick,  holding  it  far  from  his  body, 
as  he  tip-toed  up  to  the  platform,  where  he  laid 


Tt 


I 


\u 


\l 


i8 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbc  flbasft. 


it  down  carefully  on  the  desk  before  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Professor,  blandly. 

The  man  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  he 
went  back  to  his  seat. 

*•  That  is  frozen  dynamite,"  continued  the 
Professor,  "  and  is,  as  I  have  said,  practically 
harmless.  Now,  it  will  be  my  pleasure  to  per- 
form two  startling  experiments  with  the  un- 
frozen substance,"  and  with  that  he  picked  up 
a  handful  of  the  wet  sawdust  and  flung  it  on  a 
small  iron  anvil  that  stood  on  the  table.  "  You 
will  enjoy  these  experiments,"  he  said,  "  be- 
cause it  will  show  you  with  what  ease  dyna- 
mite may  be  handled.  It  is  a  popular  error  that 
concussion  will  cause  dynamite  to  explode. 
There  is  enough  dynamite  here  to  blow  up  this 
hall  and  to  send  into  oblivion  every  person  in 
it,  yet  you  will  see  whether  or  not  concussion 
will  explode  it."  The  Professor  seized  a  ham- 
mer and  struck  the  substance  on  the  anvil  two 
or  three  sharp  blows,  while  those  in  front  of 
him  scrambled  wildlv  back  over  their  comrades, 
with  hair  standing  on  end.  The  Professor 
ceased  his  pounding  and  gazed  reproachfully  at 
them  ;  then  something  on  the  anvil  appeared  to 
catch  his  eye.  He  bent  over  it  and  looked 
critically  on  the  surface  of  the  iron.  Drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height  again,  he  said, 

"  1  was  about  to  reproach  you  for  what  might 
have  appeared  to  any  other  man  as  evidence  of 
fear,  but  I  see  my  mistake.  I  came  very  near 
making  a  disastrous  error.  I  have  myself  suf- 
fered from  time  to  time  from  similar  errors.  I 
notice  upon  the  anvil  a  small  spot  of  grease  ;  if 
my  hammer  had  happened  to  strike  that  spo: 
you  would  all  now  be  writhing  in  your  death-ago- 
nies under  the  ruins  of  this  building.  Neverthe- 
less, the  lesson  is  not  without  its  value.  Tha: 
spot  of  grease  is  free  nitro-glycerine  that  hair 


Zbc  Cbemistrs  ot  anarcbg. 


19 


the  Pro- 

ilandly. 
;lief  as  he 

inued   the 
practically 
ire  to  per- 
;h   the  un- 
picked up 
ng  it  on  a 
)le.     "  You 
said,  "  be- 
ease  dyna- 
X  error  that 
o    explode, 
low  up  this 
y  person  in 
concussion 
zed  a  ham- 
e  anvil  two 
in  front  of 
r  comrades. 
i    Professor 
oachfuUy  at 
appeared  to 
and  looked 
Drawing 
le  said, 
what  might 
evidence  of 
le  very  near 
myself  suf- 
,r  errors.     I 
f  grease ;  it 
;e  that  spo: 
r  death-ago- 
Neverthe- 
[alue.     Tha: 
ne  that  has 


oozed  out  from  the  dynamite.  Therein  rests, 
Derhaps,  the  only  danger  in  handling  dynamite. 
As  I  have  shown  you,  you  can  smash  up  dyna- 
mite on  an  anvil  without  danger,  but  if  a  ham- 
mer happened  to  strike  a  spot  of  free  nitro- 
glycerine it  would  explode  in  a  moment.  I  beg 
10  apologize  to  you  for  my  momentary  neglect." 
A  man  rose  up  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  and 
it  was  some  little  time  before  he  could  command 
voice  enough  to  speak,  for  he  was  shaking  as  if 
from  palsy.  At  last  he  said,  after  he  had 
moistened  his  lips  several  times  : — 

"  Professor,  we  are  quite  willing  to  take  your 
word  about  the  explosive.  I  think  I  speak  for 
all  my  comrades  here.  We  have  no  doubt  at  all 
about  your  learning,  and  would  much  prefer  to 
hear  from  your  own  lips  what  you  have  to  say 
on  the  subject,  and  not  have  you  waste  any 
more  valuable  time  with  experiments.  I  have 
not  consulted  with  my  comrades  before  speak- 
ing, but  I  think  I  voice  the  sense  of  the  meeting." 
Cries  of  "  You  do,  you  do,"  came  from  all  parts 
of  the  hall.  The  Professor  once  more  beamed 
upon  them  benevolently. 

"  Your  confidence  in  me  is  indeed  touching.'' 
he  said,  •*  but  a  chemical  lecture  without  experi- 
ments is  like  a  body  without  a  soul.  Experi- 
ment is  the  soul  of  research.  In  chemistry  we 
must  take  nothing  for  granted.  I  have  shown 
you  how  many  popular  errors  have  arisen  re- 
•^arding  the  substance  with  which  we  are  deal- 
mg.  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  these 
errors  to  have  arisen  if  every  man  had  experi- 
mented for  himself;  and  although  I  thank  you 
for  the  mark  of  confidence  you  have  bestowed 
upon  me,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  deprive  you 
of  the  pleasure  which  mv  experiments  will  afford 
•ou.  There  is  another  very  common  error  to 
he  effect  that  fire  will  explode  dynamite.  Such, 
,entlemen,  is  not  the  case." 


20 


Zbc  3face  anD  tbe  /ttasli. 


i 


The  Professor  struck  a  match  on  his  trousers- 
leg  and  lighted  the  substance  on  the  anvil.  It 
burnt  with  a  pale  bluish  flame,  and  the  Profes- 
sor gazed  around  triumphantly  at  his  fellow 
Anarchists. 

While  the  shuddering  audience  watched 
with  intense  fascination  the  pale  blue  flame  the 
Professor  suddenly  stooped  over  and  blew  it 
out.  Straightening  himself  once  more  he  said, 
"Again  I  must  apologize  to  you,  for  again  I 
have  forgotten  the  small  spot  of  grease.  If  the 
flame  had  reached  the  spot  of  nitro-glycerine  it 
would  have  exploded,  as  you  all  know.  When 
a  man  has  his  thoughts  concentrated  on  one 
subject  he  is  apt  to  forget  something  else.  I 
shall  make  no  more  experiments  with  dynamite. 
Here,  John,"  he  said  to  the  trembling  attendant, 
*'  take  this  box  away,  and  move  it  carefully,  for 
I  see  that  the  nitro-glycerine  is  oozing  out. 
Put  it  as  tenderly  down  in  the  next  room  as  if 
it  were  a  box  of  eggs." 

As  the  box  disappeared  there  was  a  simulta- 
neous long-drawn  sigh  of  relief  from  the  audi- 
ence. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Professor,  "  we 
come  to  the  subject  that  ought  to  occupy  the 
minds  of  all  thoughtful  men."  He  smoothed 
his  hair  complacently  with  the  palm  of  his  prac- 
ticable hand,  and  smiled  genially  around  him. 

*'  The  substance  that  I  am  about  to  tell  you 
of  is  my  own  invention,  and  compares  with 
dynamite  as  prussic  acid  does  with  new  milk  as 
a  beverage."  The  Professor  dipped  his  fingers 
in  his  vest  pocket  and  drew  out  what  looked 
like  a  box  of  pills.  Taking  one  pill  out  he 
placed  it  upon  the  anvil  and  as  he  tip-toed  back 
he  smiled  on  it  with  a  smile  of  infinite  tender- 
ness. "  Before  I  begin  on  this  subject  I  want 
to  warn  you  once  more  that  if  any  man  as  much 
as  stamps  upon  the  floor,  or  moves  about  except 


fin^ 

takj 

the! 

picl 

plac 

infii 

poii 

"is  I 


tTbe  CbemistrB  ot  Bnarcbi^.         21 


we 


on  tip-toe  this  substance  will  explode  and  will 
lay  London  from  here  to  Charing  Cross,  in  one 
mass  of  indistinguishable  ruins.  I  have  spent 
ten  years  of  my  life  in  completing  this  invention. 
And  these  pills,  worth  a  million  a  box,  will  cure 
all  ills  to  which  the  tiesh  is  heir." 

"John,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  attendant, 
"  bring  me  a  basin  of  water  !  "  The  basm  of 
water  was  placed  gingerly  upon  the  table,  and 
the  Professor  emptied  all  the  pills  into  it,  pick- 
mg  up  also  the  one  that  was  on  the  anvil  and 
putting  it  with  the  others. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "we  can 
breathe  easier.  A  man  can  put  one  of  these 
pills  in  a  little  vial  of  water,  place  the  vial  in  his 
vest-pocket,  go  to  Trafalgar  Square,  take  the 
pill  from  the  vial,  throw  it  in  the  middle  of  the 
Square,  and  it  will  shatter  everything  within  the 
four-mile  radius,  he  himself  having  the  glorious 
privilege  of  suffering  instant  martyrdom  for  the 
cause.  People  have  told  me  that  this  is  a  draw- 
back to  my  invention,  but  I  am  inclined  to  differ 
with  them.  The  one  who  uses  this  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  share  the  fate  of  those  around 
him.  I  claim  that  this  is  the  crowning  glory  of 
my  invention.  It  puts  to  instant  test  our  inter- 
est in  the  great  cause.  John,  bring  in  very 
carefully  that  machine  with  the  electric-wire 
attachment  from  the  next  room," 

The  machine  was  placed  upon  the  table. 
"  This,"  said  the  Professor,  holding  up  some 
invisible  object  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger, "  is  the  finest  cambric  needle.  I  will 
take  upon  the  point  of  it  an  invisible  portion  of 
the  substance  I  speak  of."  Here  he  carefully 
picked  out  a  pill  from  the  basin,  and  as  carefully 
placed  it  upon  the  table,  where  he  detached  an 
infinitesimal  atom  of  it  and  held  it  up  on  the 
point  of  the  needle.  "  This  particle,"  he  said, 
"  is  so  small  that  it  cannot  be  seen  except  with 


) 


Mi'  • 


m 


23 


XLH  3face  anD  tbe  /ftash. 


the  aid  of  a  microscope.  I  will  now  place 
needle  and  all  on  the  machine  and  touch  it  off 
\^  ith  electric  current ;  "  and  as  his  hand  hovered 
over  the  push-button  there  were  cries  of  "  Stop  ! 
stop  ! "  but  the  finger  descended,  and  instantly 
there  was  a  terrific  explosion.  The  very  founda- 
tion seemed  shaken,  and  a  den.se  cloud  of  smoke 
rolled  over  the  heads  of  the  audience.  As  the 
Professor  became  visible  through  the  thinning 
smoke,  he  looked  around  for  his  audience. 
Every  man  was  under  the  benches,  and  groans 
came  from  all  parts  of  the  hall.  "  I  hope,"  said 
the  Professor,  in  anxious  tones,  "  that  no  one 
has  been  hurt.  I  am  afraid  that  I  took  up  too 
much  of  the  substance  on  the  point  of  the 
needle,  but  it  will  enable  you  to  imagine  the 
effect  of  a  larger  quantity.  Pray  seat  your- 
selves again.     This  is  my  last  experiment." 

As  the  audience  again  seated  itself,  another 
mutual  sigh  ascended  to  the  roof.  The  Pro- 
fessor drew  the  chairman's  chair  towards  him 
and  sat  down,  wiping  his  grimy  brow. 

A  man  instantly  arose  and  said,  "  I  move  a 
vote  of  thanks  to  Professor  Slivers  for  the 
interesting " 

The  Professor  raised  his  hand.  "  One 
moment,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  quite  finished.  I 
have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you.  You  see  that 
cloud  of  smoke  hovering  over  our  heads  ?  In 
twenty  minutes  that  smoke  will  percolate  down 
through  the  atmosphere.  I  have  told  you  but 
half  of  the  benefits  of  this  terrific  explosive. 
When  that  smoke  mixes  with  the  atmosphere 
of  the  room  it  becomes  a  deadly  poison.  We 
all  can  live  here  for  the  next  nineteen  minutes 
in  perfect  safety,  then  at  the  first  breath  we 
draw  we  expire  instantly.  It  is  a  lovely  death. 
There  is  no  pain,  no  contortion  of  the  counte- 
nance, but  we  will  be  found  here  in  the  morning 
stark  and  stiff  in  our  s  ats.     I   propose,  gentle- 


XLbc  Qbcmietx^  of  Bnarcbs^ 


23 


men,  that  we  teach  London  the  great  lesson  it 
so  much  needs.  No  cause  is  without  its  martyrs. 
Let  us  be  the  martyrs  of  the  great  religion  of 
Anarchy.  I  have  left  in  my  room  papers  telling 
just  how  and  why  we  died.  At  midnight  these 
sheets  will  be  distributed  to  all  the  newspapers 
of  London,  and  to-morrow  the  world  will  ring 
with  our  heroic  names.  I  will  now  put  the 
motion.  All  in  favor  of  this  signify  it  by  the 
usual  upraising  of  the  right  hand." 

The  Professor's  own  right  hand  was  the  only 
one  that  was  raised. 

'*  Now  all  of  a  contrary  opinion,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor, and  at  once  every  hand  in  the  audience 
went  up. 

"  The  noes  have  it,"  said  the  Professor,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  feel  badly  about  it.  "  Gen- 
tlemen," he  continued,  '*  I  see  that  you  have 
guessed  my  second  proposal,  as  I  imagined  you 
would,  and  though  there  will  be  no  newspapers 
in  London  to-morrow  to  chronicle  the  fact,  yet 
the  newspapers  of  the  rest  of  the  world  will  tell 
of  the  destruction  of  this  wicked  city.  I  see  by 
your  looks  that  you  are  with  me  in  this,  my 
second  proposal,  which  is  the  most  striking 
thing  ever  planned,  and  is  that  we  explode  the 
whole  of  these  pills  in  the  basin.  To  make  sure 
of  this.  I  have  sent  to  an  agent  in  Manchester 
the  full  account  of  how  it  was  done,  and  the 
resolutions  brought  forward  at  this  meeting,  and 
which  doubtless  you  will  accept. 

"  Gentlemen,  all  in  favor  of  the  instant  de- 
struction of  London  signify  it  in  the  usual 
manner." 

"  Mr.  Professor,"  said  the  man  who  had 
spoken  previously,  "  before  you  put  that  resolu- 
tion I  would  like  to  move  an  amendment.  This 
IS  a  very  serious  proposal,  and  should  not  be 
lightly  undertaken.  I  move  as  an  amendment, 
therefore,  that  we  adjourn   this  meeting  to  our 


)   • 


24 


Zbc  3face  atiD  tbe  /Bbasft. 


I 


rooms  at  Soho,  and  do  the  exploding  there.  I 
have  some  little  business  that  must  be  settled 
before  this  grand  project  is  put  in  motion." 

The  Professor  then  said,  "  Gentlemen,  the 
amendment  takes  precedence.  It  is  moved 
that  this  meeting  be  adjourned,  so  that  you  may 
consider  the  project  at  your  club-rooms  in 
Soho." 

"  I  second  that  amendment,"  said  fifteen  of 
the  audience  rising  together  to  their  feet. 

"  In  the  absence  of  the  regular  chairman," 
said  the  Professor,  "  it  is  my  duty  to  put  the 
amendment.  All  in  favor  of  the  amendment 
signify  it  by  raising  the  right  hand." 

Every  hand  '  s  raised.  "  The  amendment, 
gentlemen,  is  ^arried.  I  shall  be  only  too 
pleased  to  meet  you  to-morrow  night  at  your 
club,  and  I  will  bring  with  me  a  larger  quantity 
of  my  explosive.  John,  kindly  go  round  and  tell 
the  man  to  unlock  the  doors." 

When  Simkims  and  Slivers  called  round  the 
next  night  at  the  regular  meeting-place  of  the 
Anarchists,  they  found  no  signs  of  a  gathering, 
and  never  since  the  lecture  has  the  Soho 
Anarchist  League  been  known  to  hold  a  meet- 
ing.   The  Club  has  mysteriously  dissolved. 


h 


' 


lere.  I 
settled 

n. 

len,  the 
moved 

,rou  may 

)oms  in 

fteen  of 

t. 

airman," 
put  the 
endment 

;ndment, 

only  too 

at  your 

quantity 

i  and  tell 

ound  the 

ce  of  the 

athering, 

le    Soho 

a  meet- 

ved. 


; 


i 


THE  FEAR  OF  IT. 

The  sea  was  done  with  him.  He  had  strug- 
gled manfully  for  his  life,  but  exhaustion  came  at 
last,  and,  realizing  the  futility  of  further  fight- 
ing, he  gave  up  the  battle.  The  tallest  wave, 
the  king  of  that  roaring  tumultuous  procession 
racing  from  the  wreck  to  the  shore,  took  him  in 
its  relentless  grasp,  held  him  towering  for  a  mo- 
ment against  the  sky,  whirled  his  heels  in  the 
air,  dashed  him  senseless  on  the  sand,  and, 
finally,  rolled  him  over  and  over,  a  helpless 
bundle,  high  up  upon  the  sandy  beach. 

Human  life  seems  of  little  account  when  we 
think  of  the  trifles  that  make  toward  the  extinc- 
tion  or  the  extension  of  it.  If  the  wave  that 
bore  Stanford  had  been  a  little  less  tall,  he 
would  have  been  drawn  back  into  the  sea  by 
one  that  followed.  If,  as  a  helpless  bundle,  he 
had  been  turned  over  one  time  more  or  one  less, 
his  mouth  would  have  pressed  into  the  sand, 
and  he  would  have  died.  As  it  was,  he  lay 
on  his  back  with  arms  outstretched  on  either 
side,  and  a  handful  of  dissolving  sand  in  one 
clinched  fist.  Succeeding  waves  sometimes 
touched  him,  but  he  lay  there  unmolested  by 
the  sea  with  his  white  face  turned  to  the  sky. 

Oblivion  has  no  calendar.  A  moment  or  an 
eternity  are  the  same  to  it.  When  conscious- 
ness slowly  returned,  he  neither  knew  nor  cared 
how  time  had  fled.  He  was  not  quite  sure  that 
he  was  alive,  but  weakness  rather  than  fear  kept 
him  from  opening  his  eyes  to  find  out  whether 


m 


■  I 


.' 


k  I. 


26 


^be  jface  and  tbe  /Ibasft* 


I 


the  world  they  would  look  upon  was  the  world 
they  had  last  gazed  at.  His  interest,  however, 
was  speedily  stimulated  by  the  sound  of  the 
English  tongue.  He  was  still  too  much  dazed 
to  wonder  at  it,  and  to  remember  that  he  was 
cast  away  on  some  unknown  island  in  the 
Southern  Seas.  But  the  purport  of  the  words 
startled  him. 

"  Let  us  be  thankful.  He  is  undoubtedly 
dead."  This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  infinite 
satisfaction. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  murmur  of  pleasure 
at  the  announcement  from  those  who  were 
with  the  speaker.  Stanford  slowly  opened  his 
eyes,  wondering  what  these  savages  w'ere  who 
rejoiced  in  the  death  of  an  inoffensive  stranger 
cast  upon  their  shores.  He  saw  a  group  stand- 
ing around  him,  but  his  attention  speedily  be- 
came concentrated  on  one  face.  The  owner  of 
it,  he  judged,  was  not  more  than  nineteen  years 
of  age,  and  the  face — at  least  so  it  seemed  to 
Stanford  at  the  time — was  the  most  beautiful 
he  had  ever  beheld.  There  was  an  expression 
of  sweet  gladness  upon  it  until  her  eyes  met 
his,  then  the  joy  faded  from  the  face,  and  a 
look  of  dismay  took  its  place.  The  girl  seemed 
to  catch  her  breath  in  fear,  and  tears  filled  her 
eyes. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  he  is  going  to  live." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
sobbed. 

Stanford  closed  his  eyes  wearily.  "  I  am  evi- 
dently insane,"  he  said  to  himself.  Then,  los- 
ing faith  in  the  reality  of  things,  he  lost  con- 
sciousness as  well,  and  when  his  senses  came 
to  him  again  he  found  himself  lying  on  a  bed  in 
a  clean  but  scantily  furnished  room.  Through 
an  open  window  came  the  roar  of  the  sea,  and 
the  thunderous  boom  of  the  falling  waves 
brought  to  his  mind   the   experiences   through 


vt 


•1^; 


'  \ 


Zbc  ifcar  ot  ITt. 


«7 


5,   and 


,  los- 
con- 

came 
)ed  in 
rough 
a,  and 
waves 
rough 


which  he  had  passed.  The  wreck  and  the 
struggle  with  the  waves  he  knew  to  be  real,  but 
the  episode  on  the  beach  he  now  believed  to 
have  been  but  a  vision  resulting  from  his  con- 
dition. 

A  door  opened  noiselessly,  and,  before  he 
knew  of  anyone's  entrance,  a  placid-faced  nurse 
stood  by  his  bed  and  asked  him  how  he  was. 

*'  I  don't  know.     I  am  at  least  alive." 

The  nurse  sighed,  and  cast  down  her  eyes. 
Her  lips  moved,  but  she  said  nothing.  Stan- 
ford looked  at  her  curiously.  A  'ear  crept  over 
him  that  he  was  hopelessly  crippled  for  life  md 
that  death  was  considered  preferable  to  a 
maimed  existence.  He  felt  wearied,  though 
not  in  pain,  but  he  knew  that  sometimes  the 
more  desperate  the  hurt,  the  less  the  victim 
feels  it  at  first. 

"  Are — are  any  of  my — my  bones  broken,  do 
you  know  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  You  are  bruised,  but  not  badly  hurt. 
You  will  soon  recover." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Stanford,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  By  the  way,"  he  added,  with  sudden  interest, 
"  who  was  that  girl  who  stood  near  me  as  I  lay 
on  the  beach  ?  " 

"  There  were  several." 

"  No,  there  was  but  one.  I  mean  the  girl 
with  the  beautiful  eyes  and  a  halo  of  hair  like  a 
glorified  golden  crown  on  her  head." 

"  We  speak  not  of  our  women  in  words  like 
those,"  said  tne  nurse,  severely  ;  "  you  mean 
Ruth,  perhaps,  whose  hair  is  plentiful  and 
yellow." 

Stanford  smiled.  "  Words  matter  little,"  he 
said. 

"  We  must  be  temperate  in  speech,"  replied 
the  nurse. 

"  We  may  be  temperate  without  .being 
teetotal.     Plentiful  and  yellow,  indeed  !    I  have 


w 


98 


Z\iC  Ifacc  anD  tbe  Aaelt. 


t 


*«( 


had  a  bad  dream  concerning  those  who  found 
me.  I  thought  that  they— but  it  does  not 
matter.  She  at  least  is  not  a  myth.  Do  you 
happen  to  know  if  any  others  were  saved  }  " 

"  I  am  thankful  to  be  able  to  say  that  every 
one  was  drowned." 

Stanford  started  up  with  horror  in  his  eyes. 
The  demure  nurse,  with  sympathetic  tones,  bade 
him  not  excite  himself.  He  sank  back  on  his 
pillow. 

"  Leave  the  room,"  he  cried,  feebly,  "  Leave 
me — leave  me."  He  turned  his  face  toward  the 
wall,  while  the  woman  left  as  silently  as  she  had 
entered. 

When  she  was  gone  Stanford  slid  from  tne 
bed,  intending  to  make  his  way  to  the  door  and 
fasten  it.  He  feared  that  these  savages,  who 
wished  him  dead,  would  take  measures  to  kill 
him  when  they  saw  he  was  going  to  recover. 
As  he  leaned  against  the  bed,  he  noticed  that 
the  door  had  no  fastening.  There  was  a  rude 
latch,  but  neither  lock  nor  bolt.  The  furniture 
of  the  room  was  of  the  most  meagre  description, 
clumsily  made.  He  staggered  to  the  open 
window,  and  looked  out.  The  remnants  of  the 
disastrous  gale  blew  in  upon  him  and  gave  him 
new  life,  as  it  had  formerly  threatened  him  with 
death.  He  saw  that  he  was  in  a  village  of 
small  houses,  each  cottage  standing  in  its  own 
plot  of  ground.  It  was  apparently  a  village  of 
one  street,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the  houses 
opposite  he  saw  in  the  distance  the  white  waves 
of  the  sea.  What  astonished  him  most  was  a 
church  with  its  tapering  spire  at  the  end  of  the 
street — a  wooden  church  such  as  he  had  seen  in 
remote  American  settlements.  The  street  was 
deserted,  and  there  were  no  signs  of  life  in  the 
houses. 

"  I  must  have  fallen  in  upon  some  colony  of 
lunatics,"  he   said  to   himself.     "  I  wonder  to 


^be  ^cat  or  it. 


a9 


what  country  these  people  belong — either  to 
Enjjland  or  the  United  States,  I  imaj^ine — yet 
in  all  my  travels  I  never  heard  of  such  a  com- 
munity. 

There  was  no  mirror  in  the  room,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  know  how  he  looked. 
His  clothes  were  dry  and  powdered  with  salt. 
He  arranged  them  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
slipped  out  of  the  house  unnoticed.  When  he 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village  he  saw  that 
the  inhabitants,  both  men  and  women,  were 
working  in  the  tieHs  some  distance  away. 
Coming  towards  the  village  was  a  girl  with  » 
water-can  in  either  hand.  Sne  was  singing  as 
blithely  as  a  lai'<  until  she  saw  Stanford,  where- 
upon she  paused  both  in  her  walk  and  in  her 
song.  Stanford,  never  a  backward  man,  ad- 
vanced, and  was  about  to  greet  her  when  she 
forestalled  him  by  saying  : 

"  I  am  grieved,  indeed,  to  see  that  you  have 
recovered." 

The  young  man's  speech  was  frozen  on  his 
lip,  and  a  frown  settled  on  his  brow.  Seeing 
that  he  was  annoyed,  though  why  she  could  not 
guess,  Ruth  hastened  to  amend  matters  by 
adding : 

"  Believe  me,  what  I  say  is  true.  I  am  indeed 
sorry." 

"  Sorry  that  I  live  ?  '' 

"  Most  heartily  am  I." 

"It  is  hard  to  credit  such  a  statement  from 
one  so— from  you." 

"  Do  not  say  so.  Miriam  has  already  charged 
me  with  being  glad  that  you  were  not  drowned. 
It  would  pain  me  deeply  if  you  also  believed  as 
she  does." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  swimming  eyes, 
and  the  young  man  knew  not  what  to  answer. 
.  inally  he  said  : 

"  There  is  some  horrible  mistake.     I  cannot 


tsi 


<t 


I  ; 


I 


}-A 


^l 


I, 


30 


Zbc  iFacc  anO  tbe  /Ifoask, 


make  it  out.  Perhaps  our  words,  though  ap- 
parently the  same,  have  a  different  meaning. 
Sit  down,  Ruth,  I  want  to  ask  you  some  ques- 
tions." 

Ruth  cast  a  timorous  glance  towards  the 
workers,  and  murmured  something  about  not 
having  much  time  to  spare,  but  she  placed  the 
water-cans  on  the  ground  and  sank  down  on  the 
grass.  Stanford  throwing  himself  on  the  sward 
at  her  feet,  but,  seeing  that  she  shrank  back,  he 
drew  himself  further  from  her,  resting  where  he 
might  gaze  upon  her  face. 

Ruth's  eyes  were  downcast,  which  was  neces- 
sary, for  she  occupied  herself  in  pulling  blade 
after  blade  of  grass,  sometimes  weaving  them 
together.  Stanford  had  said  he  wished  to 
question  her,  but  he  apparently  forgot  his  inten- 
tion, for  he  seemed  wholly  satisfied  with  merely 
looking  at  her.  After  the  silence  had  lasted  for 
some  time,  she  lifted  her  eyes  for  one  brief 
moment,  and  then  asked  the  first  question  her- 
self. 

"  From  what  land  do  you  come  ?  " 

"  From  England." 

"  Ah  !   that  also  is  an  island,  is  it  not  ?  " 

He  laughed  at  the  "  also,'^  and  remembered 
that  he  had  some  questions  to  ask. 

"  Yes,  it  is  an  island — also.  The  sea  dashes 
wrecks  on  all  four  sides  of  it,  but  there  is  no 
village  on  its  shores  so  heathenish  that  if  a  man 
is  cast  upon  the  beach  the  inhabitants  do  not 
rejoice  because  he  has  escaped  death." 

Ruth  looked  at  him  with  amazement  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Is  there,  then,  no  religion  in  England  ?  " 

"  Religion  ?  England  is  the  most  religious 
country  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  are 
more  cathedrals,  more  churches,  more  places  of 
worship  in  England  than  in  any  other  State 
that  I  know  of.     We  send  missionaries  to  all 


i 


4 


i 


Zbc  jfear  ot  MU 


3* 


igh  ap- 
eanino. 
2  ques- 

rds  the 
Dut  not 
:ed  the 

1  on  the 

2  sward 
»ack,  he 
here  he 


1  neces- 
g  blade 
g  them 
hed  to 
s  inten- 
merely 
sted  for 
le  brief 
on  her- 


nbered 

Idashes 
is  no 
a  man 
lo  not 

lin  her 


?" 

[igious 
'e  are 
Ices  of 
State 
Ito  all 


heathenish  lands.  The  Government,  itself, 
supports  the  Church." 

"  I  imaii^ine,  then,  I  mistook  your  meaning. 
I  thought  from  what  you  said  that  the  people  of 
England  feared  death,  and  did  not  welcome  it 
or  rejoice  when  one  of  their  nurriber  died." 

They  do  not  fear  death,  and  they  do  not  rejoice 
when  it  comes.  Far  from  it.  From  the  peer 
to  the  beggar,  everyone  hghts  death  as  long  as 
he  can  ;  the  oldest  cling  to  life  as  eagerly  as 
the  youngest.  Not  a  man  but  will  spend  his 
last  gold  piece  to  ward  off  the  inevitable  even 
for  an  hour." 

**  Gold  piece — what  is  that  ?  " 

Stanford  plunged  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

"  Ah!  "  he  said,  "there  are  some  coins  left. 
Here  is  a  gold  piece." 

The  girl  took  it,  and  looked  at  it  with  keen 
interest. 

"  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  "  the  said,  holding  the  yeU 
low  coin  on  her  pink  palm,  and  glancing  up  at 
him. 

"  That  is  the  general  opinion.  To  accumu- 
late coins  like  that,  men  will  lie,  and  cheat,  and 
steal — yes,  and  work.  Although  they  will  give 
their  last  sovereign  to  prolong  their  lives,  yet 
will  they  risk  life  itself  to  accumulate  gold. 
Every  business  in  England  is  formed  merely 
for  the  gathering  together  of  bits  of  metal  like 
that  in  your  hand  ;  huge  companies  of  men  are 
formed  so  that  it  may  be  piled  up  in  greater 
quantities.  The  man  who  has  most  gold  has 
most  power,  and  is  generally  the  most  re- 
spected; the  company  which  makes  most 
money  is  the  one  people  are  most  anxious  to 
belong  to." 

Ruth  listened  to  him  with  wonder  and  dis- 
may in  her  eyes.  As  he  talked  she  shuddered, 
and  allowed  the  yellow  coin  to  slip  from  her 
hand  to  the  ground. 


I 


i      ^i^ 


^ 
^ 


32 


Zbc  iface  anD  tbe  Aa^Ii. 


"  No  wonder  such  a  people  fears  death." 

"  Do  you  not  fear  death  ?  " 

"  How  can  we,  when  we  believe  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  But  would  you  not  be  sorry  if  someone 
died  whom  you  loved  ?  " 

"  How  could  we  be  so  selfish  ?  Would  you 
be  sorry  if  your  brother,  or  someone  you  loved, 
became  possessed  of  whatever  you  value  in 
England — a  large  quantity  of  this  gold,  for  in- 
stance ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  But  then  you  see — well,  it 
i;in't  exactly  the  same  thing.  If  one  you  care 
for  dies  you  are  separated  from  him,  and " 

"  But  only  for  a  short  time,  and  that  gives  but 
another  reason  for  welcoming  death.  It  seems 
impossible  that  Christian  people  should  fear  to 
enter  Heaven.  Now  I  begin  to  understand 
why  our  forefathers  left  England,  and  why  our 
teachers  will  never  tell  us  anything  about  the 
people  there.  I  wonder  why  missionaries  are 
not  sent  to  England  to  teach  them  the  truth, 
and  try  to  civilize  the  people  .'*  " 

"  That  would,  indeed,  be  coals  to  Newcastle. 
But  there  comes  one  of  the  workers." 

**  It  is  my  father,"  cried  the  girl,  rising.  "  I 
fear  I  have  been  loitering.  I  never  did  such  a 
thing  before.'' 

The  man  who  approached  was  stern  of  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  the  workers  are  athirst." 

The  girl,  without  reply,  picked  up  her  pails 
and  departed. 

"  I  have  been  receiving,"  said  the  ^  oung  man, 
coloring  slightly,  "  some  instruction  regarding 
your  belief.  I  had  been  puzzled  by  several  re- 
marks I  had  heard,  and  wished  to  make  inquiries 
concerning  them." 

"  It  is  more  fitting,"  said  the  man,  coldly, 
"*  that  you  should  receive  instruction  from  me 
or  from  some  of  the  elders  than  from  one  of 


XLbc  fcai  ot  ft. 


ren? 
neone 

Id  you 
loved, 
lue  in 
[or  in- 

vell,  it 
u  care 


ves  but 
seems 
fear  to 
erstand 
rhy  our 
out  the 
ries  are 
i  truth, 

rcastle. 

ig.     "I 
such  a 

If  coun- 

iirst. 
;r  pails 

|g  man, 
jarding 
[rai  re- 
Iquiries 

[coldly. 

>m  me 

)ne  of 


the  youngest  in  the  community.  When  you 
are  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  listen  to 
an  exposition  of  our  views,  I  hope  to  put  forth 
such  arguments  as  will  convince  you  that  they 
are  the  true  views.  If  it  should  so  happen  that 
my  arguments  are  not  convincing,  then  I  must 
request  that  you  will  hold  no  communication 
with  our  younger  members.  They  must  not  be 
contaminated  by  the  heresies  of  the  outside 
world." 

Stanford  looked  at  Ruth  standing  beside  the 
village  well. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  '*  you  underrate  the  argumen- 
tative powers  of  the  younger  members.  There 
is  a  text  bearing  upon  the  subject  which  I  need 
not  recall  to  you.    I  am  already  convinced." 


I 


» 

It     1^ 


THE  METAMORPHOSES  OF 
JOHNSON. 

I  WAS  Staying  for  some  weeks  at  a  lovely 
town  in  the  Tyrol  which  I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  naming  Schwindleburg.  I  conceal  its  real 
title  because  it  charges  what  is  termed  a  visi- 
tors' tax,  and  a  heavy  visitors'  tax,  exacting  the 
same  from  me  through  the  medium  of  my  hotel 
bill.  The  town  also  made  me  pay  for  the  ex- 
cellent band  that  performs  morning  and  after- 
noon in  the  Kurpark.  Many  continental  health 
resorts  support  themselves  by  placing  a  tax 
upon  visitors,  a  practice  resorted  to  by  no  Eng- 
lish town,  and  so  I  regard  the  imposition  as  a 
swindle,  and  I  refuse  to  advertise  any  place 
that  practises  it.  It  is  true  that  if  you  stay  in 
Schwindleburg  less  than  a  week  they  do  not 
tax  you,  but  I  didn't  know  that,  and  the  hotel 
man,  being  wise  in  his  own  generation,  did  not 
present  his  bill  until  a  day  after  the  week  was 
out,  so  I  found  myself  in  for  the  visitors'  tax 
and  the  music  money  before  I  was  aware  of  it. 
Thus  does  a  foolish  person  accumulate  wisdom 
by  foreign  travel.  1  stayed  on  at  this  pictur- 
esque place,  listening  to  the  band  every  day, 
trying  to  get  value  for  my  money.  I  intended 
to  keep  much  to  myself,  having  work  to  do, 
and  make  no  acquaintances,  but  I  fell  under 
the  fascination  of  Johnson,  thus  breaking  my 
rule.  What  is  the  use  of  making  a  rule  if  you 
can't  have  the  pleasure  of  breaking  it  ? 


>F 


ovely 
berty 
>  real 
1  visi- 
g  the 
hotel 
le  ex- 
after- 
health 
a  tax 
)Eng- 
1  as  a 

place 
itay  in 
lo  not 

hotel 
id  not 
jk  was 
W  tax 

of  it. 
lisdom 

>ictur- 
day, 

inded 

[o  do, 

under 

Ig  my 

if  you 


ZTbe  fl^ctamorpbosee  ot  5obn0on.     35 

I  think  the  thing  that  first  attracted  me  to  John- 
son was  his  utter  negligence  in  the  matter  of 
his  personal  appearance.  When  he  stepped 
down  from  the  hotel  'bus  he  looked  like  a  semi- 
respectable  tramp.  He  wore  a  blue  woolen 
shirt,  with  no  collar  or  necktie.  He  had  a 
slouch  hat,  without  the  usual  affectation  of  a 
Tyrolese  feather  in  it.  His  full  beard  had  evi- 
dently not  been  trimmed  for  weeks,  and  he  had 
one  trouser-leg  turned  up.  He  had  no  alpen- 
stock, and  that  also  was  a  merit.  So  I  said  to 
myself,  "Here  is  a  man  free  from  the  conven- 
tionalities of  society.  If  I  become  acquainted 
with  anybody  it  will  be  with  him." 

I  found  Johnson  was  an  American  from  a 
Western  city  named  Chicago,  which  I  had 
heard  of,  and  we  ''palled  on."  He  was  very 
fond  of  music,  and  the  band  in  the  Kurpark 
was  a  good  one,  so  we  went  there  together 
twice  a  day,  and  talked  as  we  walked  up  and 
down  the  gravel  paths.  He  had  been  every- 
where, and  knew  his  way  about ;  his  conversa- 
tion was  interesting.  In  about  a  week  1  had 
come  to  love  Johnson,  and  I  think  he  rather 
liked  me. 

One  day,  as  we  returned  together  to  the  Ho- 
tel Post,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"I'm  off  to-morrow,"  he  said;  "off  to  Inns- 
bruck. So  I  shall  bid  you  good-bye.  I  am 
very  glad  indeed  to  have  met  you." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that."  I  replied. 
"But  I  won't  say  good-bye  now,  I'll  see  you  to 
the  station  to-morrow." 

"  No,  don't  do  that.  I  shall  be  away  before 
you  are  up.      We'll  say  good-bye  here." 

We  did,  and  when  I  had  breakfast  next 
morning  I  found  Johnson  had  left  by  the  early 
train.  I  wandered  around  the  park  that  fore- 
noon mourning  for  Tohnson.  The  place  seemed 
lonely  without  him.     In  the  afternoon  I  explored 


\k 


m 


3^ 


^be  Iface  and  tbe  /Ibadfi* 


some  of  the  by-paths  of  the  park  within  hearing 
distance  of  the  band,  when  suddenly,  to  my  in- 
tense surprise,  I  met  my  departed  friend. 

'•  Hello !  Johnson,"  I  cried,  "  I  thought  you 
left  this  morning. 

The  man  looked  at  me  with  no  recognition  in 
his  face. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  •'  my  name  is 
Baumgarten." 

Looking  more  closely  at  him  I  at  once  saw  I 
was  mistaken.  I  had  been  thinking  of  Johnson 
at  the  time,  which  probably  accounted  for  the 
error.  Still,  his  likeness  to  Johnson  was  re- 
markable— to  Johnson  well  groomed.  He  had 
neatly-trimmed  side-whiskers  and  moustache, 
while  Johnson  had  a  full  beard.  His  round  hat 
was  new,  and  he  wore  an  irreproachable  collar, 
and  even  cuffs.  Besides  this  he  sported  a  cane, 
and  evidently  possessed  many  weaknesses  to 
which  Johnson  was  superior.  I  apologized  for 
my  mistake,  and  was  about  to  walk  on  when 
Baumgarten  showed  signs  of  wishing  to  become 
acquainted. 

"I  have  just  arrived,"  he  said,  "and  know 
nothing  of  the  place.  Have  you  been  here 
long  ?  " 

"  About  two  weeks,"  I  answered. 

**  Ah  !  then,  you  are  a  resident  as  it  were. 
Are  there  any  good  ascents  to  be  made  around 
here  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  informed  that  there  are.  I 
am  not  a  climber  myself,  except  by  funicular 
railway.  I  am  always  content  to  take  other 
people's  figures  for  the  heights.  The  only  use 
I  have  for  a  mountain  is  to  look  at  it." 

Then  Baumgarten  launched  into  a  very  inter- 
esting account  of  mountain  dangers  he  had 
passed  through.  I  found  him  a  most  entertain- 
mg  talker,  almost  as  fascinating  as  Johnson  him- 
self.   He  told  me  he  was  from  Hanover,  but  he 


TT- 


m 


Zbc  Aetamorpbo&cd  of  5obndon.     37 

had  been  educated  in  Great  Britain,  which  ac- 
counted for  his  perfect  English. 

"  What  hotel  are  you  at  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the 
band  ceased  playing. 

"  I  am  staying  at  the  Post,"  I  answered. 
"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  the  Adler.  You  must  come  to  dine 
with  me  some  evening,  and  I  will  make  it  even 
by  dining  with  you.  We  can  thus  compare 
/ad/e  lihotes" 

Baumgarten  improved  on  acquaintance  in 
spite  of  his  foppishness  in  dress.  1  almost  for- 
got Johnson  until  one  day  I  was  reminded  of 
him  one  day  by  Baumgarten  saying,  "  I  leave  to- 
night for  Innsbruck." 

"  Innsbruck  }  Why,  that's  where  Johnson  is. 
You  ought  to  meet  him.  He's  an  awfully  good 
fellow.  A  little  careless  about  his  clothes,  that's 
all." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  him.  I  know  no  one 
in  Innsbruck.  Do  you  happen  to  know  the 
name  of  his  hotel  }" 

"  I  do  not.  I  don't  even  know  Johnson's  first 
name.  But  I'll  write  you  a  note  of  introduc- 
tion on  my  card,  and  if  you  should  come  across 
him,  give  him  my  regards." 

Baumgarten  accepted  the  card  with  thanks, 
and  we  parted. 

Next  day,  being  warm,  I  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
shade  listening  to  the  music.  Now  that  Baum- 
garten had  gone,  I  was  meditating  on  his 
strange  resemblance  to  Johnson,  and  remember- 
ing things.  Someone  sat  down  beside  me,  but 
I  paid  no  attention  to  him.     Finally  he  said : 

"This  seems  to  be  a  very  good  band." 

I  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  looked 
at  him  too  much  astonished  to  reply. 

He  wore  a  moustache,  but  no  whiskers,  and 
a  green  Tyrolese  felt  hat  with  a  feather  in  it. 
An  alpenstock  leaned  against  the  bench  beside 


M 


P^ 


■*14/ 


■*     i 


T 


^^' 


38 


Cbe  iFace  and  tbe  Aaslt. 


i 
IP 


him,  its  iron  point  in  the  gravel.  He  wore 
knickerbockers;  in  fact,  his  whole  appearance 
was  that  of  the  conventional  mountaineer-tour- 
ist. But  the  voice  !  And  the  expression  of  the 
eyes  ! 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  the  band  is  very  good." 

••  Oh,  yes.  Quite  so.  It's  expensive,  and  it 
ought  to  be  good.  I'm  helping  to  pay  for  it. 
By  the  way,  you  arrived  this  morning,  1  take 
it?" 

•*  I  came  last  night." 

"  Oh,  indeed.  And  you  depart  in  a  few  days 
for  Innsbruck  ?" 

**  No,  I  go  to  Salzburg  when  I  leave  here." 

"And  your  name  isn't  Johnson — or — or 
Baumgarten,  by  any  chance?  " 

"  It  is  not." 

"  You  come  neither  from  Chicago  nor  Han- 
over?" 

"  I  have  never  been  in  America,  nor  do  I 
know  Hanover.     Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing  else.  It's  all  right.  It's  none  of 
my  business,  of  course." 

"  What  is  none  of  your  business  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  secret  about  that.  I  am  a 
Russian.  My  name  is  Katzoff.  At  least,  these 
are  the  first  and  last  syllables  of  my  name.  I 
never  use  my  full  name  when  I  travel ;  it  is  too 
complicated." 

"  Thanks.  And  how  do  you  account  for  your 
perfect  English  ?  Educated  in  England,  1  pre- 
sume?    Baumgarten  was." 

•'  No,  I  was  not.  You  know  we  Russians 
are  reputed  to  be  good  linguists." 

"  Yes,  I  had  forgotten  that.  We  will  now  re- 
turn to  the  point  from  which  we  started.  The 
band  is  excellent,  and  it  is  about  to  play  one  of 
four  favorite  selections,  Mr.  Katzburg." 


Zhc  /ISetamorpbodCd  of  ^obttdon.     39 


"  Katzoff  is  the  name.  As  to  the  selection,  I 
don't  know  much  about  music,  although  I  am 
fond  of  popular  pieces." 

Katzoff  and  I  got  along  very  nicely,  although 
I  did  not  seem  to  like  him  as  well  .is  either 
Johnson  or  Baumgarten.  He  left  for  Salzburg 
without  bidding  me  good-bye.  Missing  him 
one  day,  I  called  at  the  Angleterri,  and  the 
porter  told  me  he  had  gone. 

Next  day  I  searched  for  him,  wondering  in 
what  garb  I  should  find  him.  I  passed  him 
twice  as  he  sat  on  the  bench,  before  I  was 
sure  enough  to  accost  him.  The  sacrifice  of 
his  moustache  had  made  a  remarkable  differ- 
ence. His  clean-shaven  face  caused  him  to  look 
at  least  ten  years  younger.  He  wore  a  tall  silk 
hat,  and  a  long  black  morning  coat.  I  found 
myself  hardly  able  to  withdraw  my  eyes  from 
the  white  spats  that  partially  covered  his 
polished  boots.  He  was  reading  an  English 
paper,  and  did  not  observe  my  scrutiny.  I 
approached  him. 

"  Well,  Johnson,"  I  said,  "  this  is  a  lay  out. 
You're  English  this  time,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  man  looked  up  in  evident  surprise. 
Fumbling  around  the  front  of  his  waistcoat  for 
a  moment,  he  found  a  black  silk  string,  which 
he  pulled,  bringing  to  his  hand  a  littie  round 
disc  of  glass.  This  he  stuck  in  one  eye,  grimac- 
ing slightly  to  keep  it  in  place,  and  so  regarded 
me  apparently  with  some  curiosity.  My  cer- 
tainty that  it  was  Johnson  wavered  for  a 
moment,  but  I  braved  it  out. 

"  That  monocle  is  a  triumph,  Johnson.  In 
combination  with  the  spats  it  absolutely  staggers 
me.  If  you  had  tried  that  on  as  Baumgarten  I 
don't  know  that  I  should  have  recognized  you. 
Johnson,  what's  your  game  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  be  laboring  under  some  delu- 
sion," he  said  at  last.     "  My  name  is  not  John- 


'i 


TT^ 


y 


1^     n 


r 


40 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbe  /baafi. 


son.  I  am  Lord  Somerset  Campbell,  if  you 
care  to  know." 

••  Really  ?  Oh,  well,  that's  all  right.  I'm  the 
Duke  of  Argyll,  so  we  must  be  relatives. 
Blood  is  thicker  than  water,  Campbell.  Confess. 
Whom  have  you  murdered  .''  " 

"  I  knew,"  said  his  lordship,  slowly,  "  that  the 
largest  lunatic  asylum  in  the  Tyrol  is  near  here, 
but  I  was  not  aware  that  the  patients  were 
allowed  to  stroll  in  the  Kurpark." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  Johnson,  but " 

"  Campbell,  if  you  please." 

"  I  don't  please,  as  it  happens.  This  mas- 
querade has  gone  on  long  enough.  What's 
your  crime  ?  Or  are  you  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence  .'*  Are  you  practising  the  detective 
business  ?  " 

*'  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know  you,  and  I 
resent  your  impertinent  curiosity.  Allow  me 
to  wish  you  good-day." 

"  It  won't  do,  Johnson,  it  has  gone  too  far. 
You  have  played  on  my  feelings,  and  I  won't 
stand  it.  I'll  go  to  the  authorities  and  relate 
the  circumstances.  They  are  just  suspicious 
enough  to " 

*'  Which .''  The  authorities  or  the  circum- 
stances ?  "  asked  Johnson,  sitting  down  again. 

"  Both,  my  dear  boy,  both,  and  you  know  it. 
Now,  Johnson,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  I  won't 
give  you  away." 

Johnson  sighed,  and  his  glass  dropped  from 
his  eye.  He  looked  around  cautiously.  "  Sit 
down,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  are  Johnson!"  I  cried,  with 
some  exultation. 

"  I  thought  you  weren't  very  sure,"  began 
Johnson.  "  However,  it  doesn't  matter,  but 
you  should  be  above  threatening  a  man.  That 
was  playing  it  low  down.'' 

"  I  see  you're  from  Chicago.     Go  on." 


Cbe  /Ibetamorpboseg  of  ^obnson.     ^I 

"It's  all  on  account  of  this  accursed  visitors* 
tax.  That  I  decline  to  pay.  I  stay  just  under 
the  week  at  a  hotel,  and  then  take  a  'bus  to  the 
station,  and  another  'bus  to  another  hotel.  Of 
course  my  mistake  was  getting  acquainted  with 
you.  I  never  suspected  you  were  going  to  stay 
here  a  month." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  let  me  know  }  Your 
misdemeanor  is  one  I  thoroughly  sympathize 
with.     I  wouldn't  have  said  anything." 

Johnson  shook  his  head. 

"  I  took  a  fellow  into  my  confidence  once 
before.  He  told  it  as  a  dead  secret  to  a  friend, 
and  the  friend  thought  it  a  good  joke,  and 
related  it,  always  under  oath  that  it  should  go 
no  further.  The  authorities  had  me  arrested 
before  the  week  was  out,  and  fined  me  heavily 
besides  exacting  the  tax." 

"  But  doesn't  the  'bus  fares,  the  changing, 
and  all  that  amount  to  as  much  as  the  tax  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  does.  It  isn't  the  money  I 
object  to,  it's  the  principle  of  the  thing." 

This  interview  was  the  last  I  ever  had  with 
Johnson.  About  a  week  later  I  read  in  the 
Visitors'  List  that  Lord  Somerset  Campbell, 
who  had  been  a  guest  of  the  Victoria  (the  swell 
hotel  of  the  place),  had  left  Schwindleburg  for 
Innsbruck. 


'M 


\  ' 


•    \ 


;ith 


i     1 


1^' 


7 


«u 


THE  RECLAMATION  OF  JOE 
HOLLENDS. 

The  public-houses  of  Burwell  Road — and 
there  were  many  of  them  for  the  length  of  the 
street — were  rather  proud  of  Joe  Hollends.  He 
was  a  perfected  specimen  of  the  work  a  pub 
produces.  He  was  probably  the  most  persistent 
drunkard  the  Road  possessed,  and  the  periodi- 
cal gathering  in  of  Joe  by  the  police  was  one  of 
the  stock  sights  of  the  street.  Many  of  the 
inhabitants  could  be  taken  to  the  station  by  one 
policeman ;  some  required  two ;  but  Joe's 
average  was  four.  He  had  been  heard  to  boast 
that  on  one  occasion  he  had  been  accompanied 
to  the  station  by  seven  bobbies,  but  that  was 
before  the  force  had  studied  Joe  and  got  him 
down  to  his  correct  mathematical  equivalent. 
Now  they  tripped  him  up,  a  policeman  taking 
one  kicking  leg  and  another  the  other,  while  the 
remaining  two  attended  to  the  upper  part  of  his 
body.  Thus  they  carried  him,  followed  by  an 
admiring  crowd,  and  watched  by  other  envious 
drunkards  who  had  to  content  themselves  with 
a  single  officer  when  they  went  on  a  similar 
spree.  Sometimes  Joe  managed  to  place  a  kick 
where  it  would  do  the  most  good  against  the 
stomach  of  a  policeman,  and  when  the  officer 
rolled  over  there  was  for  a  few  moments  a 
renewal  of  the  fight,  silent  on  the  part  of  the 
men  and  vociferous  on  the  part  of  the  drunkard, 
who  had  a  fine  flow  of  abusive  language.    Then 


,t  >' 


Zbc  IReclamation  o(  3oc  l^oUendd.   43 

the  procession  went  on  again.  It  was  perfectly 
useless  to  put  Joe  on  the  police  ambulance,  for  it 
required  two  men  to  sit  on  him  while  in  transit, 
and  the  barrow  is  not  made  to  stand  such  a  load. 

Of  course,  when  Joe  staggered  out  of  the 
pub  and  fell  in  the  gutter,  the  ambulance  did  its 
duty,  and  trundled  Joe  to  his  abiding  place,  but 
the  real  fun  occurred  when  Joe  was  gathered  in 
during  the  third  stage  of  his  debauch.  He 
passed  through  the  oratorical  stage,  then  the 
maudlin  or  sentimental  stage,  from  which  he 
emerged  into  the  fighting  stage,  when  he  was 
usually  ejected  into  the  street,  where  he  forth- 
with began  to  make  Rome  howl,  and  paint  the 
town  red.  At  this  point  the  policeman's  whistle 
sounded,  and  the  force  knew  Joe  was  on  the 
warpath,  and  that  duty  called  them  to  the  fray. 

It  was  believed  in  the  neighborhood  that  Joe 
had  been  a  college  man,  and  this  gave  him  ad- 
ditional standing  with  his  admirers.  His  elo- 
quence was  undoubted,  after  several  glasses 
varying  in  number  according  to  the  strength  of 
their  contents,  and  a  man  who  had  heard  the 
great  political  speakers  of  the  day  admitted  that 
none  of  them  could  hold  a  candle  to  Joe  when 
he  got  on  the  subject  of  the  wronge  of  the  work- 
ing man  and  the  tyranny  of  the  capitalist.  It 
was  generally  understood  that  Joe  might  have 
been  anything  he  liked,  and  that  he  v;as  no 
man's  enemy  but  his  own.  It  was  also  hinted 
that  he  could  teli  the  bigwigs  a  thing  or  two  if 
he  had  been  consulted  in  affairs  of  State. 

One  evening,  when  Joe  was  slowly  progress- 
ing as  usual,  with  his  feet  in  the  air,  towards 
the  station,  supported  by  the  requisite  number 
of  policemen,  and  declaiming  to  the  delight  of 
the  accompanying  crowd,  a  woman  stood  with 
her  back  to  the  brick  wall,  horror-stricken  at  the 
sight.  She  ha*^  a  pale,  refined  face,  and  was 
dressed   in   black.     Her  self-imposed   mission 


^i 


^^^1^ 


'».'l 


l1    '  •  I 


««i 


44 


ZTbe  jface  and  tbe  /Bbasft, 


was  amon.c^  these  people,  but  she  had  never 
seen  Joe  taken  to  the  station  before,  and  the 
sight,  which  was  so  amusing  to  the  neighbor- 
hood, was  shocking  to  her.  She  enquired  about 
Joe,  and  heard  the  usual  story  that  he  was  no 
man's  enemy  but  his  own,  although  they  might 
in  justice  have  added  the  police.  Still,  a  police- 
man was  hardly  looked  upon  as  a  human  being 
in  that  neighborhood.  Miss  Johnson  reported 
the  case  to  the  committee  of  the  Social  League, 
and  took  counsel.  Then  it  was  that  the  recla- 
mation of  Joe  Hollends  was  determined  on. 

Joe  r^.ceived  Miss  Johnson  with  subdued 
dignity,  and  a  demeanor  that  delicately  indi- 
cated a  knowledge  on  his  part  of  her  superiority 
and  his  own  degradation.  He  knew  how  a  lady 
should  be  treated  even  if  he  was  a  drunkard,  as 
he  told  his  cronies  afterwards.  Joe  was  per- 
fectly willing  to  be  reclaimed.  Heretofore  in 
his  life,  no  one  had  ever  extended  the  hand  of 
fellowship  to  him.  Human  sympathy  was  what 
Joe  needed,  and  precious  little  he  had  had  of  it. 
There  were  more  kicks  than  halfpence  in  this 
world  for  a  poor  man.  The  rich  did  not  care 
what  became  of  the  poor  ;  not  they — a  proposi- 
tion which  Miss  Johnson  earnestly  denied. 

It  was  one  of  the  tenets  of  the  committee 
that  where  possible  the  poor  should  help  the 
poor.  It  was  resolved  to  get  Joe  a  decent  suit 
of  clothes  and  endeavor  to  find  him  a  place 
where  work  would  enable  him  to  help  himself. 
Miss  Johnson  went  around  the  neighborhood 
and  collected  pence  for  the  reclamation.  Most 
people  were  willing  to  help  Joe,  although  it  was 
generally  felt  that  the  Road  would  be  less  gay 
when  he  took  on  sober  habits.  In  one  room, 
however.  Miss  Johnson  was  refused  the  penny 
she  pleaded  for. 

"  We  cannot  spare  even  a  penny,"  said  the 
woman,  whose  sickly  little    boy  clung   to  her 


g< 


iittee 
the 
suit 
ilace 
iself. 
locd 
viost 
Iwas 

gay 

pny 

the 
her 


Ubc  IReclamation  of  ^oe  tollcn^s.  4S 

skirts.  "  My  husband  is  just  out  of  work  again. 
He  has  had  only  four  weeks'  work  this  time." 

iMiss  Johnson  looked  around  the  room  and 
saw  why  there  was  no  money.  It  was  quite 
evident  where  the  earnings  of  the  husband  had 
gone. 

The  room  was  much  better  furnished  than 
the  average  apartment  of  the  neighborhood. 
There  were  two  sets  of  dishes  where  one  would 
have  been  quite  sufficient.  On  the  mantelshelf 
and  around  the  walls  were  various  unnecessary 
articles  which  cost  money. 

Miss  Johnson  noted  all  this  but  said  nothing, 
although  she  resolved  to  report  it  to  the  com- 
mittee. In  union  is  strength  and  in  multitude 
of  counsel  there  is  wisdom.  Miss  Johnson  had 
great  faith  in  the  wisdom  of  the  committee. 

"  How  long  has  your  husband  been  out  of 
work  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Only  a  few  days,  but  times  are  very  bad  and 
he  is  afraid  he  will  not  get  another  situation 
soon." 

"  What  is  his  trade  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  carpenter  and  a  good  workman — 
sober  and  steady." 

"  If  you  give  me  his  name  I  will  put  it  down 
in  our  books.  Perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  help 
him." 

"  John  Morris  is  his  name." 

Miss  Johnson  wrote  it  down  on  her  tablets, 
and  when  she  left,  the  wife  felt  vaguely  grate- 
ful for  benefits  to  coma. 

The  facts  of  the  case  were  reported  to  the 
committee,  and  Miss  Johnson  was  deputed  to 
expostulate  with  Mrs.  Morris  upon  her  extrava- 
gance. John  Morris's  name  was  put  upon  the 
books  among  the  names  of  many  other  unem- 
ployed persons.  The  case  of  Joe  Hollends  then 
came  up,  and  elicited  much  enthusiasm.  A 
decent  suit    of  clothing  had   been    purchased 


■■h 


i 


f 


w 

it 


46 


Zbc  face  anD  tbe  ifflbasfi* 


i'i 


with  part  of  the  money  collected  for  him,  and  it 
was  determined  to  keep  the  rest  in  trust,  to  be 
doled  out  to  him  as  occasion  warranted. 

Two  persuasive  ladies  undertook  to  find  a 
place  for  him  in  one  of  the  factories,  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible. 

Joe  felt  rather  uncomfortable  in  his  new  suit 
of  clothes,  and  seemed  to  regard  the  expendi- 
ture as,  all  in  all,  a  waste  of  good  money.  He 
was  also  disappointed  to  find  that  the  funds 
collected  were  not  to  be  handed  over  to  him  in 
a  lump.  It  was  not  the  money  he  cared  about, 
he  said,  but  the  evident  lack  of  trust.  If  people 
had  trusted  him  more,  he  might  have  been  a 
better  man.  Trust  and  human  sympathy  were 
what  Joe  Hollends  needed. 

The  two  persuasive  ladies  appealed  to  Mr. 
Stillwell,  the  proprietor  of  a  small  factory  for 
the  making  of  boxes.  They  said  that  if  Hollends 
got  1  chance  they  were  sure  he  would  reform. 
Stillwell  replied  that  he  had  no  place  for  anyone. 
He  had  enough  to  do  to  keep  the  men  already 
in  his  employ.  Times  were  dull  in  the  box 
business,  and  he  was  turning  away  applicants 
ever)'^  day  who  were  good  workmen  and  who 
didn't  need  to  be  reformed.  However,  the 
ladies  were  very  persuasive,  and  it  is  not  given 
to  every  man  to  be  able  to  refuse  the  appeal  of 
a  pretty  woman,  not  to  mention  two  of  them. 
Stillwell  promised  to  give  Hollends  a  chance, 
said  he  would  consult  with  his  foreman,  and  let 
the  ladies  know  what  could  be  done. 

Joe  Hollends  did  not  receive  the  news  of  his 
luck  with  the  enthusiasm  that  might  have  been 
expected.  Many  a  man  was  tramping  London 
in  search  of  employment  and  finding  none, 
therefore  even  the  ladies  who  were  so  solicitous 
about  Joe's  welfare  thought  he  should  be  thank- 
ful that  work  came  unsought.  He  said  he 
would  do  his  best,  which  is,  when  you  come  to 


p'  ^ 


let 


he 
to 


XLbc  'Reclamation  ot  3oc  l)oUcn&0.  47 

think  of  it,  all  that  we  have  a  right  to  expect 
from  any  man. 

Some  days  afterwards  Jack  Morris  applied  to 
Mr.  Stillwell  for  a  job,  but  he  had  no  sub-com- 
mittee of  persuasive  ladies  to  plead  for  him. 
He  would  be  willing  to  work  half-time  or  quar- 
ter-time for  that  matter.  He  had  a  wife  and 
boy  dependent  on  him.  He  could  show  that 
he  was  a  i^ood  workman  and  he  did  not  drink. 
Thus  did  Morris  recite  his  qualifications  to  the 
unwilling  ears  of  Stillwell  the  box  maker.  As 
he  left  the  place  disheartened  with  another  re- 
fusal, he  was  overtaken  by  Joe  HoUends.  Joe 
was  a  lover  of  his  fellow-man,  and  disliked  see- 
ing anyone  downhearted.  He  had  one  infallible 
cure  for  dejection.  Having  just  been  dis- 
charged, he  was  in  high  spirits,  because  his  pre- 
diction of  his  own  failure  as  a  reformed  charac- 
ter, if  work  were  a  condition  of  the  reclamation, 
had  just  been  fulfilled. 

"Cheer  up,  old  man,"  he  cried,  slapping 
Morris  on  the  shoulder,  "  what's  the  matter  ? 
Come  and  have  a  drink  with  me.  I've  got  the 
money." 

"  No,"  said  Morris,  who  knew  the  professional 
drunkard  but  slightly,  and  did  not  care  for  fur- 
ther acquaintance  with  him,  "  I  want  work,  not 
beer." 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste.  Why  don't  you 
ask  at  the  box  factory  ?  You  can  have  my  job 
and  welcome.  The  foreman's  just  discharged 
me.  Said  I  wouldn't  work  inyself,  and  kept 
the  men  off  theirs.  Thought  I  talked  too  much 
about  capital  and  labor." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  your  job  ?  " 

"Very  likely.  No  harm  in  trying.  If  they 
don't  take  you  on,  come  into  the  Red  Lion — 
I'll  be  there — and  have  a  drop.  It'll  cheer  you 
up  a  bit." 

Morris   appealed   in  vain    to    the    foreman. 


:'tl 


?■ 


^ 


•i\ 


m 


f-^ll; 


ft! 


hl\ 


48 


Zbc  ^ace  and  tbe  Abaeft* 


They  had  more  men  now  in  the  factory  than 
they  needed,  he  said.  So  Morris  went  to  the 
Red  Lion,  where  he  found  Hollends  ready  to 
welcome  him.  They  had  several  glasses  to- 
gether, and  Hollends  told  him  of  the  efforts  of 
the  Social  League  in  the  reclamation  line,  and 
his  doubts  of  their  ultimate  success.  Hollends 
seemed  to  think  the  ladies  of  the  League  were 
deeply  indebted  to  him  for  furnishing  them 
with  such  a  good  subject  for  reformation. 
That  night  Joe's  career  reached  a  triumphant 
climax,  for  the  four  policeman  had  to  appeal  to 
the  bystanders  for  help  in  the  name  of  the  law. 

Jack  Mollis  went  home  unaided.  He  had 
not  taken  many  glasses,  but  he  knew  he  should 
have  avoided  drink  altogether,  for  he  had  some 
experience  of  its  power  in  his  younger  days. 
He  was,  therefore,  in  a  quarrelsome  mood,  ready 
to  blame  everyone  but  himself. 

He  found  his  wife  in  tears,  and  saw  Miss 
Johnson  sitting  there,  evidently  very  miserable. 

♦•  What's  all  this  }  "  asked  Morris. 

His  wife  dried  her  eyes,  and  said  it  was  noth- 
ing. Miss  Johnson  had  been  giving  her  some 
advice,  which  she  was  thankful  for.  Morris 
glared  at  the  visitor. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  us  ?  "  he  de- 
manded rudely.  His  wife  caught  him  by  the 
arm,  but  he  angrily  tossed  aside  her  hand. 
Miss  Johnson  arose,  fearing. 

"  You've  no  business  here.  We  want  none 
of  your  advice.  You  get  out  of  this."  Then, 
impatiently  to  his  wife,  who  strove  to  calm  him, 
"  Shut  up.  will  you  ?  " 

Miss  Johnson  was  afraid  he  would  strike  her 
as  she  passed  him  going  to  the  door,  but  he 
merely  stood  there,  following  her  exit  with  low- 
ering brow. 

The  terrifieu  lady  told  her  experience  to  the 
sympathizing  members  of  the  committee.    She 


1^ 


( > 


it>**^^ 


de- 
the 
md. 


lone 
len, 
lim, 


I  her 
he 

)W- 

Ithe 
)he 


Zbc  •Reclamation  of  5oe  f)oUcnD0.  49 

had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Morris  of  her  extravagance 
in  buying  so  many  things  that  were  not  neces- 
sary when  her  husband  had  work.  She  advised 
the  saving  of  the  money.  Mrs.  Morris  had  de- 
fended her  apparent  lavish  expenditure  by  say- 
ing that  there  was  no  possibihty  of  saving 
money.  She  bought  useful  things,  and  when 
her  husband  was  out  of  work  she  could  always 
get  a  large  percentage  of  their  cost  from  the 
pawnbroker.  The  pawnshop,  she  had  tearfully 
explained  to  Miss  Johnson,  was  the  only  bank 
of  the  poor.  The  idea  of  the  pawnshop  as  a 
bank,  and  not  as  a  place  of  disgrace,  was  new 
to  Miss  Johnson,  but  before  anything  further 
could  be  said  the  husband  had  come  in.  One 
of  the  committee,  who  knew  more  about  the 
district  than  Miss  Johnson,  affirmed  that  there 
was  something  to  say  for  the  pawnbroker  as 
the  banker  of  the  poor.  The  committee  were 
unanimoi' ,  "n  condemning  the  conduct  of  Mor- 
ris, and  it  Sctys  much  for  the  members  that,  in 
?;;-;te  of  the  provocation  one  of  them  had  re- 
ceived, they  did  not  take  the  name  of  so  unde- 
serving a  man  from  their  list  of  the  unemployed. 

The  sad  relapse  of  Joe  Hollands  next  occu- 
pied the  attention  of  the  League.  His  fine  had 
been  paid,  and  he  had  expressed  himself  as 
deeply  grieved  at  his  own  frailty.  If  the  fore- 
man had  been  less  harsh  with  him  and  had  given 
him  a  chance,  things  might  have  been  different. 
It  was  resolved  to  send  Joe  to  the  seaside  so 
that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  toning  up 
his  system  to  resist  temptation.  Joe  enjoyed 
his  trip  to  the  sea.  He  always  liked  to  en- 
counter a  new  body  of  police  unaccustomed  to 
his  methods.  He  toned  up  his  system  so  suc- 
cessfully the  first  day  on  the  sands  that  he 
spent  the  night  in  the  cells. 

Little  by  little,  the  portable  property  in  the 
rooms  of  the   Morrises   disappeared   into  the 


>  t 


n 


^ .' 


♦  ji 


\ 


n 


so 


^be  jface  anD  tbc  /Bba^ft. 


ll 


.  I 


pawnshop.  Misfortune,  as  usual,  did  not  come 
singly.  The  small  boy  was  ill,  and  Morris 
himself  seemed  to  be  unable  to  resist  the  temp- 
tation of  the  Red  Lion.  The  unhappy  woman 
took  her  boy  to  the  parish  doctor,  who  was 
very  busy,  but  he  gave  what  attf  r  ion  he  could 
to  the  case.  He  said  all  the  be  ■  needed  was 
nourishing  food  and  country  fir,  Mrs.  Morris 
sighed,  and  decided  to  take  the  little  boy 
oftener  to  the  park,  but  the  way  was  long,  and 
he  grew  weaker  day  by  day. 

At  last,  she  succeeded  in  interesting  her  hus- 
band in  the  little  fellow's  condition.  He  con- 
sented to  take  the  boy  to  the  doctor  with  her. 

"  The  doctor  doesn't  seem  to  mind  what  I 
say,"  she  complained.  "  Perhaps  he  will  pay 
attention  to  a  man." 

Morris  was  not  naturally  a  morose  person, 
but  continued  disappointment  was  rapidly 
making  him  so.  He  said  nothing,  but  took  the 
boy  in  his  arms,  and,  followed  by  his  wife,  went 
to  the  doctor. 

"  This  boy  was  here  before,''  said  the  phy- 
sician, which  tended  to  show  that  he  had  paid 
more  attention  .to  the  case  than  Mrs.  Morris 
thought.  "  He  is  very  much  worse.  You  will 
have  to  take  him  to  the  country  or  he  will  die." 

"  How  can  I  send  him  to  the  country.?" 
asked  Morris,  sullenly,  "  I've  been  out  of  work 
for  months." 

"  Have  you  friends  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Hasn't  your  wife  any  friends  in  the  country 
who  would  take  her  and  the  lad  for  a  month  or 
so  ?  " 

••  No." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  pawn  ?  " 

"  Very  little." 

"  Then  I  would  advise  you  to  pawn  every- 
thing you  own,  or  sell  it  if  you  can,  and  take  the 


^bc  "Reclamation  ot  5oc  "^oUenoj?.  51 


boy  on  your  back  and  tramp  to  the  country. 
You  will  get  work  there  probably  more  easily 
than  in  the  city.  Here  are  ten  shillings  to  help 
you." 

'*  I  don't  want  your  money,"  said  Morris,  in  a 
surly  tone.     "  I  want  work." 

'•  1  have  no  work  to  give  you,  so  I  offer  you 
what  I  have.  I  haven't  as  much  of  that  as  I 
could  wish.  You  are  a  fool  not  to  take  what 
the  gods  send." 

Morris,  without  replying,  gathered  up  his  son 
in  his  arms  and  departed. 

"  Here  is  a  bottle  of  tonic  for  him."  said  the 
doctor  to  Mrs.  Morris. 

He  placed  the  half-sovereign  on  the  bottl  s 
he  passed  it  to  her.  She  silently  thanked  him 
with  her  wet  eyes,  hoping  that  a  time  would  come 
when  she  could  repay  the  money.  The  doctor 
had  experience  enough  to  know  that  they  were 
not  to  be  classed  among  his  usual  visitors. 
He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  indiscriminately 
bestowing  gold  coins. 

It  was  a  dreary  journey,  and  they  were  a  long 
time  shaking  off  the  octopus-like  tentacles  of  the 
great  city,  that  reached  further  and  further  into 
the  country  each  year,  as  if  it  lived  on  consum- 
ing the  green  fields.  Morris  walked  ahead 
with  the  boy  on  his  back,  and  his  wife  followed. 
Neither  spoke,  and  the  sick  lad  did  not  com- 
plain. As  they  were  nearing  a  village,  the  boy's 
head  sunk  on  his  father's  shoulder.  The  mother 
quickened  her  pace,  and  came  up  to  them 
stroking  the  head  of  her  sleeping  son.  Sud- 
denly, she  uttered  a  smothered  cry  and  took  the 
boy  in  her  arms. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Morris,  turning 
round. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  by  the  roadside  with 
the  boy  on  her  lap,  swaying  her  body  to  and  fro 
over  him,  moaning  as  she  did  so.    Morris  needed 


>    i 


I 


tl 


I  i 


4     , 


H^""ir 


S« 


^be  jface  iino  tbe  ^aali. 


ri 


tl 


n  I 


i  ! 


I  • 


no  answer.  He  stood  on  the  road  with  harden- 
ing face,  and  looked  down  on  his  wife  and  child 
without  f-peaking. 

The  kindly  villagers  arranged  the  little  funeral, 
and  when  it  was  over  Jack  Morris  and  his  wife 
stood  again  on  the  road. 

"  Jack,  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "  don't  go  back  to 
that  horrible  place.  We  belong  to  the  country, 
and  the  city  is  so  hard  and  cruel." 

"  I'm  going  back.  You  can  do  as  you  like." 
Then,  relenting  a  little,  he  added,  "  I  haven't 
brought  much  luck  to  you.  my  girl." 

She  knew  her  husband  was  a  stubborn  man, 
and  set  in  his  way,  so,  unprotesting,  she  followed 
him  in,  as  she  had  followed  out,  stumbling  many 
times,  for  often  her  eyes  did  not  see  the  road. 
And  so  they  returned  to  theii  empty  rooms. 

Jack  Morris  went  to  look  for  work  at  the  Red 
Lion.  There  he  met  that  genial  comrade,  Joe 
Hollends,  who  had  been  reformed,  and  who  had 
backslid  twice  since  Jack  had  foregathered 
with  him  before.  It  is  but  fair  to  Joe  to  admit 
that  he  had  never  been  optimistic  about  his  own 
reclamation,  but  being  an  obliging  man,  even 
when  he  was  sober,  he  was  willing  to  give  the 
Social  League  every  chance.  Jack  was  deeply 
grieved  at  the  death  of  his  son,  although  he  had 
said  no  word  to  his  wife  that  would  show  it.  It 
therefore  took  more  liquor  than  usual  to  bring 
him  up  to  the  point  of  good  comradeship  that 
reigned  at  the  Red  Lion.  When  he  and  Joe  left 
the  tavern  that  night  it  would  have  taken  an  ex- 
pert to  tell  which  was  the  more  inebriated. 
They  were  both  in  good  fighting  trim,  and  were 
both  in  the  humor  for  a  row.  The  police,  who 
had  reckoned  on  Joe  alone,  suddenly  found  a 
new  element  in  the  fight  that  not  only  upset  their 
calculations  but  themselves  as  well.  It  was  a 
glorious  victory,  and,  as  both  fled  down  a  side 
street,  Morris  urged   Hollends  to  come  along, 


i. 


I 


L 

o 

tl 


JLbc  TKcclamatlon  ot  5oe  l)ollcnD6.  53 

for  the  representatives  of  law  and  order  have  the 
habit  of  getting  reinforcements  which  often  turn 
a  victory  into  a  most  ignominious  defeat. 

"  I  can't,"  panted  Hollends.  "  The  beggars 
have  hurt  me." 

"  Come  along.  I  know  a  place  where  we 
are  safe." 

Drunk  as  he  was,  Jack  succeeded  in  finding 
the  hole  in  the  wall  that  allowed  him  to  enter 
a  vacant  spot  behmd  the  box  factory.  There 
Hollends  lay  down  with  a  groan,  and  there 
Morris  sank  beside  him  in  a  drunken  sleep. 
The  police  were  at  last  revenged,  and  finally. 

When  the  grey  daylight  brought  Morris  to  a 
dazed  sense  of  where  he  was,  he  found  his  com- 
panion dead  beside  him.  He  had  a  vague  fear 
that  he  would  be  tried  for  murder,  but  it  was 
not  so.  From  the  moment  that  Hollends,  in 
his  fall,  struck  his  head  on  the  curb,  the  Provi- 
dence which  looks  after  the  drunken  deserted 
him. 

But  the  inquest  accomplished  one  good  ob- 
ject. It  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Social 
League  to  Jack  Morris,  and  they  are  now  endeav- 
oring to  reclaim  him. 

Whether  they  succeed  or  not,  he  was  a  man 
that  was  certainly  once  worth  saving. 


1 

i 


1^? 


11 


I. 


I    M 


1   ' 


/       ) 


THE  TYPE-WRITTEN  LETTER. 

When  a  man  has  battled  with  poverty  all 
his  life,  f  jaring  it  as  he  fought  it,  feeling  for  its 
skinny  throat  to  throttle  it,  and  yet  dreading  all 
the  while  the  coming  of  the  time  when  it  would 
gain  the  mastery  and  throttle  him — when  such 
a  man  is  told  that  he  is  rich,  it  might  be  imagined 
he  would  receive  the  announcement  with  hilarity. 
When  Richard  Denham  realized  that  he  was 
wealthy  he  became  even  more  sobered  than 
usual,  and  drew  a  long  breath  as  if  he  had  been 
running  a  race  and  had  won  it.  The  man  who 
brought  him  the  news  had  no  idea  he  had  told 
Denham  anything  novel. 

He  merely  happened  to  say,  "  You  are  a  rich 
man,  Mr.  Denham,  and  will  never  miss  it." 

Denham  had  never  before  been  called  a  rich 
man,  and  up  to  that  moment  he  had  not  thought 
of  himself  as  wealthy.  He  wrote  out  the  check 
asked  of  him,  and  his  visitor  departed  gratefully, 
leaving  the  merchant  with  something  to  ponder 
over.  He  was  as  surprised  with  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  thing  as  if  someone  had  left  him  a 
legacy.  Yet  the  money  was  all  of  his  own  ac- 
cumulating, but  his  struggle  had  been  so  severe, 
and  he  had  been  so  hopeless  about  it,  that  from 
mere  habit  he  exerted  all  his  energies  long  after 
the  enemy  was  overcome — just  as  the  troops 
at  New  Orleans  fought  a  fierce  battle  not  know- 
ing that  the  war  was  over.  He  had  sprung  from 
such  a  hopelessly  poor  family.  Poverty  had 
been  their  inheritance  from  generation  to  gener- 


. 


^be  c:speswr(tten  Xcttet. 


55 


a 


,d 


auon.  It  was  the  invariable  le.e^acy  that  father 
had  left  to  son  in  the  Denliam  family.  All  had 
accepted  their  lot  with  uncomplaininj?  resigna- 
tion, until  Richard  resolved  he  would  at  least 
have  a  fight  for  it.  And  now  the  fight  had 
been  won.  Denham  sat  in  his  office  staring  at 
the  dingy  wall-paper  so  long,  that  Rogers,  the 
chief  clerk,  put  his  head  in  and  said  in  a  defer- 
ential voice : 

"  Anything  more  to-night,  Mr.  Denham?  " 

Denham  started  as  if  that  question  in  that 
tone  had  not  been  asked  him  every  night  for 
years. 

"  What's  that,  what's  that  ?  "  he  cried. 

Rogers  was  astonished,  but  too  well  trained  to 
show  it. 

"  Anything  more  to-night,  Mr.  Denham  ?  " 

"  Ah,  quite  so.  No,  Rogers,  thank  you, 
nothing  more." 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Denham," 

*•  Eh  ?  Oh,  yes.  Good-night,  Rogers,  good- 
night." 

When  Mr.  Denham  left  his  office  and  went 
out  into  the  street  everything  had  an  unusual 
appearance  to  him.  He  walked  along,  unheed- 
ing the  direction.  He  looked  at  the  fine  resi- 
dences and  realized  that  he  might  have  a  fine 
residence  if  he  wanted  it.  He  saw  handsome 
carriages  ;  he  too  might  set  up  an  equipage. 
The  satisfaction  these  thoughts  produced  was 
brief.  Of  what  use  would  a  fine  house  or  an 
elegant  carriage  be  to  him  ?  He  knew  no  one  to 
invite  to  the  house  or  to  ride  with  him  in  the  car- 
riage. He  began  to  realize  how  utterly  alone 
in  the  world  he  was.  He  had  no  friends,  no 
acquaintances  even.  The  running  dog,  with  its 
nose  to  the  ground,  sees  nothing  of  the  sur- 
rounding scenery.  He  knew  men  in  a  business 
way,  of  course,  and  doubtless  each  of  them  had 
a  home  in  the  suburbs  somewhere,  but  he  could 


I    ' 


ii    ( 


4 


III 


I 


!1 


h 


m 


f 


56 


XL\K  ifacc  anD  tbc  /ftagft. 


not  take  a  business  man  by  the  shoulders  and 
say  to  him,  "  Invite  me  to  your  house ;  I  am 
lonely  ;  I  want  to  know  people." 

If  he  got  such  an  invitation,  he  would  not 
know  what  to  do  with  himself.  He  was  fa- 
miliar with  the  counting-room  and  its  language, 
but  the  drawing-room  was  an  unexplored  coun- 
try to  him,  where  an  unknown  tongue  was 
spoken.  On  the  road  to  wealth  he  had  missed 
something,  and  it  was  now  too  late  to  go  back 
for  it.  Only  the  day  before.'he  had  heard  one  of 
the  clerks,  who  did  not  know  he  was  within  ear- 
shot, allude  to  him  as  "the  old  man."  He  felt 
as  young  as  ever  he  did,  but  the  phrase,  so 
lightly  spoken,  made  him  catch  his  breath. 

As  he  was  now  walking  through  the  park,  and 
away  from  the  busy  streets,  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  grizzled  hair, 
looking  at  his  hand  when  he  had  done  so,  as  if 
the  grey,  like  wet  paint,  might  have  come  off. 
He  thought  of  a  girl  he  knew  once,  who  perhaps 
would  have  married  him  if  he  had  asked  her, 
as  he  was  tempted  to  do.  But  that  had  always 
been  the  mistake  of  the  Denhams.  They 
had  all  married  young  except  himself,  and 
so  sunk  deeper  into  the  mire  of  poverty, 
pressed  down  by  a  rapidly-increasing  progeny. 
The  girl  had  married  a  baker,  he  remembered. 
Yes,  that  was  a  long  time  ago.  The  clerk  was 
not  far  wrong  when  he  called  him  an  old  man. 
Suddenly,  another  girl  arose  before  his  mental 
vision — a  modern  girl — very  different  indeed 
to  the  one  who  married  the  baker.  She  was  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  with  whom  he  was  on 
speaking  terms,  and  he  knew  her  merely  be- 
cause her  light  and  nimble  fingers  played  the 
business  sonata  of  one  note  on  his  office  type- 
writer. Miss  Gale  was  pretty,  of  course — all 
typewriter  girls  are — and  it  was  generally  under- 
stood in  the  office  that  she  belonged  to  a  good 


1 


■ABHB  I 


Cbc  JTsPc^writtcn  Xcttcr. 


57 


family  who  had  come  down  in  the  world.  Her 
somewhat  independent  air  deepened  this  con- 
viction and  kept  the  clerks  at  a  distance.  She 
was  a  sensible  girl  who  realized  that  the  type- 
writer paid  better  than  the  piano,  and  accord- 
ingly turned  the  expertness  of  her  white  fingers 
to  the  former  instrument.  Richard  Denham 
sat  down  upon  a  park  bench.  *'  Why  not  ?  "  he 
asked  himself.  There  was  no  reason  against 
it  except  that  he  felt  he  had  not  the  courage. 
Nevertheless,  he  formed  a  desperate  resolution. 

Next  day,  business  went  on  as  usual.  Let- 
ters were  answered,  and  the  time  arrived  when 
Miss  Gale  came  in  to  see  if  he  had  any  further 
commands  that  day.  Denham  hesitated.  He 
felt  vaguely  that  a  business  office  was  not  the 
proper  place  for  a  proposal ;  yet  he  knew  he 
would  be  at  a  disadvantage  anyv/here  else.  In 
the  first  place,  he  had  no  plausible  excuse  for 
calling  upon  the  young  woman  at  home,  and,  in 
the  second  place,  he  knew  if  he  once  got  there 
he  would  be  stricken  dumb.  It  must  either  be 
at  his  office  or  nowhere. 

"  Sit  down  a  moment.  Miss  Gale,"  he  said  at 
last ;  "  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about  a  mat- 
ter— about  a  business  matter." 

Miss  Gale  seated  herself,  and  automatically 
placed  on  her  knee  the  shorthand  writing-pad 
ready  to  take  down  his  instructions.  She 
looked  up  at  him  expectantly.  Denham,  in  an 
embarrassed  manner,  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
hair. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  he  began,  "  of  taking  a 
partner.  The  business  is  very  prosperous  now. 
In  fact,  it  has  been  so  for  some  time." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Miss  Gale  interrogatively. 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  should  have  a  partner.  It 
is  about  that  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to  con- 
sult with  Mr.  Rogers  ?     He  knows  more  about 


.    \ 


i 


S8 


Zbe  face  and  tbe  itsask. 


It 


m 


business  than  I.     But  perhaps  it  is  Mr.   Rogers 
who  is  to  be  the  partner  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  Rogers.  Rogers  is  a  good 
man.     But — it  is  not  Rogers." 

"  Then  I  think  in  an  important  matter  Uke  this 
Mr.  Rogers,  or  someone  who  knows  the  busi- 
ness as  thoroughly  as  he  does,  would  be  able 
to  give  you  advice  that  would  be  of  some 
value." 

"  I  don't  want  advice  exactly.  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  have  a  partner,  if  the  partner  is 
willing." 

Denham  mopped  his  brow.  It  was  going  to 
be  even  more  difficult  than  he  had  anticipated. 

"  Is  it,  then,  a  question  of  the  capital  the 
partner  is  to  bring  in  ? "  asked  Miss  Gale, 
anxious  to  help  him. 

"  No,  no.  I  don't  wish  any  capital.  I  have 
enough  for  both.  And  the  business  is  very 
prosperous.  Miss  Gale — and— and  has  been." 

The  young  woman  raised  her  eyebrows  in 
surprise. 

•*  You  sure'y  don't  intend  to  share  the  profits 
with  a  partner  who  brings  no  capital  into  the 
business.^ " 

"  Yes — yes,  I  do.  You  see,  as  I  said,  I  have 
no  need  for  more  capital." 

"  Oh,  if  that  is  the  case,  I  think  you  should 
consult  Mr.  Rogers  before  you  commit  your- 
self." 

"But  Rogers  wouldn't  understand." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand  either.  Il 
seems  to  me  a  foolish  thing  to  do — that  is,  if 
you  want  my  advice." 

'•  Oh,  yes,  I  want  it.  But  it  isn't  as  foolish  as 
you  think.  I  should  have  had  a  partner  long 
ago.  That  is  where  I  made  the  mistake.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  on  that." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  that  I  can  be  of  any  use — 
if  your  mind  is  already  made  up." 


Zbc  tX^pc*wr(tten  Xctter. 


59 


h 
if 

as 

Ve 


' 


"Oh,  yes,  you  can.  I'm  a  little  afraid  that 
my  offer  may  not  be  accepted." 

*•  It  is  sure  to  be,  if  the  man  has  any  sense. 
No  fear  of  such  an  offer  being  refused  !  Offers 
like  that  are  not  to  be  had  every  day.  It  will 
be  accepted." 

•'  Do  you  really  think  so,  Miss  Gale  .'*  I  am 
glad  that  is  your  opinion.  Now,  what  I  wanted 
to  consult  you  about,  is  the  form  of  the  offer.  I 
would  like  to  put  it — well — delicately,  you  know, 
so  that  it  would  not  be  refused,  nor  give  of- 
fence." 

"  I  see.  You  want  me  to  write  a  letter  to 
him  ?  " 

''  Exactly,  exactly,"  cried  Denham  with  some 
relief.  He  had  not  thought  of  sending  a  letter 
before.  Now,  he  wondered  why  he  had  not 
thought  of  it.  It  was  so  evidently  the  best  way 
out  of  a  situation  that  was  extremely  discon- 
certing. 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  him  about  it }  " 

"To  him?     What  him  .^" 

"  To  your  future  partner,  about  the  propo- 
sal ?  " 

"  No,  no.  Oh,  no.  That  is— I  have  spoken 
to  nobody  but  you." 

"  And  you  are  determined  not  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Rogers  before  you  write  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  It's  none  of  Roger's  busi- 
ness." 

'•  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Gale  shortly, 
bending  over  her  writing-pad. 

It  was  evident  that  her  opinion  of  Denham's 
wisdom  was  steadily  lowering.  Suddenly,  she 
looked  up. 

"  How  much  shall  I  say  the  annual  profits 
are  ?    Or  do  you  want  that  mentioned  .'* " 

"  I — I  don't  think  I  would  mention  that. 
You  see,  I  don't  wish  this   arrangement  to  be 


11 


I  i 


I^i^ 


(■  i 


w 


^ 


I 


60 


XLbc  iface  atiD  tbe  /l^aefi. 


carried  out  on  a  monetary  basis — not  alto- 
gether." 

"  On  what  basis  then  ?  " 

"Well — I  can  hardly  say.  On  a  personal 
basis,  perhaps.  I  rather  hope  that  the  person — 
that  my  partner — would,  you  know,  like  to  be 
associated  with  me." 

"  On  a  friendly  basis,  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Gale,  mercilessly. 

"  Certainly.  Friendly,  of  course  —and  per- 
haps more  than  that." 

Miss  Gale  looked  up  at  him  with  a  certain 
hopelessness  of  expression. 

"  Why  not  write  a  note  inviting  your  future 
partner  to  call  upon  you  here,  or  anywhere  else 
that  would  be  convenient,  and  then  discuss  the 
matter  ?  " 

Denham  looked  frightened. 

"  I  thought  of  that,  hut  it  wouldn't  do. 
No;  it  wouldn't  do.  I  would  much  rather 
settle  everything  by  correspondence." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  able  to  compose 
a  letter  that  will  suit  you.  There  seem  to  be 
so  many  difficulties.     It  is  very  unusual." 

"  That  is  true,  and  that  is  why  1  knew  no 
one  but  you  could  help  me,  Miss  Gale.  If  it 
pleases  you,  it  will  please  me." 

Miss  Gale  shook  her  head,  but,  after  a  few 
moments,  she  said,  "  How  will  this  do  ?  " 

"  Dear  Sir  " 


"  Wait  a  moment,"  cried  Mr.  Denham ; 
"  that  seems  rather  a  formal  opening,  doesn't 
it  ?  How  would  it  read  if  you  put  it  '  Dear 
friend '  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  it  so."  She  crossed  out  the 
"  sir "  and  substituted  the  word  suggested. 
Then,  she  read  the  letter  : 


] 


I 


tTbe  G^i^pcs^written  Xcttcr. 


6i 


"  Dear  Friend, — I  have  for  some  tiire  past  been 
desirous  of  taking  a  partner,  and  would  be  glad  if 
you  would  consider  the  question  and  consent  to 
join  me  in  this  business.  The  business  is,  and  has 
been  for  several  years,  very  prosperous,  and,  as  I 
shall  require  no  capital  from  you,  I  think  you  will 
find  my  offer  a  very  advantageous  one.     I  will " 

"  I — I  don't  think  I  would  put  it  quite  that 
way,"  said  Denham,  with  some  hesitation. 
"  It  reads  as  if  I  were  offering  everything,  and 
that  my  partner — well,  you  see  what  I  mean. " 

'*  Its  the  truth,"  said  Miss  Gale,  defiantly. 

"  Better  put  it  on  the  friendly  basis,  as  you 
suggested  a  moment  ago." 

"  I  didn't  suggest  anything,  Mr.  Denham. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  you  would  dictate 
the  letter  exactly  as  you  want  it.  I  knew  1 
could  not  write  one  that  would  please  you." 

•*  It  does  please  me,  but  I'm  thinking  of  my 
future  partner.  You  are  doing  first-rate-  -bet- 
ter than  I  could  do.  But  just  put  it  on  the 
friendly  basis." 

A  moment  later  she  read  : 

**..  ..join  me  in  this  business.  I  make  you  this 
offer  entirely  from  a  friendly,  and  not  from  a  finan- 
cial, standpoint,  hoping  that  you  like  me  well 
enough  to  be  associated  with  me." 

"  Anything  else,  Mr.  Denham  ?  " 

*'  No.  I  think  that  covers  the  whole  ground. 
It  will  look  rather  short,  type-written,  won't  it  ? 
Perhaps  you  might  add  something  to  show  that 
I  shall  be  exceedingly  disappointed  if  my  offer  is 
not  accepted.'' 

•♦  No  fear,"  said  Miss  Gale.  "  Til  add  that 
though.     '  Yours  truly,'  or  *  Yours  ver)'  truly '  ?  ■' 

**  You  might  end  it  *  Your  friend.'  " 

The  rapid  click  of  the  typewriter  was  heard 
for  a  few  moments  in  the  next  room,  and  then 


«:l 


f 


u. 


Nl 


il 


jr 


1 


^ 


62 


^be  ^ace  anD  tbe  /Ibaef;* 


Miss  Gale  came  out  with  the  completed  letter  in 
her  hand. 

"  Shall  I  have  the  boy  copy  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no  !  "  answered  Mr.  Denham, 
with  evident  trepidation. 

The  young  woman  said  to  herself,  "  He 
doesn't  want  Mr.  Rogers  to  know,  and  no 
wonder.  It  is  a  most  unbusiness-like  pro- 
posal." 

Then  she  said  aloud,  "  Shall  you  want  me 
again  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Gale ;  and  thank  you  very  much." 

Next  morning,  Miss  Gale  came  into  Mr.  Den- 
ham's  office  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"  You  made  a  funny  mistake  last  night,  Mr. 
Denham,"  she  said,  as  she  took  off  her  wraps. 

'*  Did  I  ?  "  he  asked,  in  alarm. 

"  Yes.  You  sent  that  letter  to  my  address. 
I  got  it  this  morning.  I  opened  it,  for  I  thought 
it  was  for  me,  and  that  perhaps  you  did  not 
need  me  to-day.  But  I  saw  at  once  that  you 
put  it  in  the  wrong  envelope.  Did  you  want  me 
to-day  ?  " 

It  was  on  his  tongue  to  say,  "  I  want  you 
every  day,"  but  he  merely  held  out  his  hand  for 
the  letter,  and  looked  at  it  as  if  he  could  not 
account  fot  its  having  gone  astray. 

The  next  day  Miss  Gale  came  late,  and  she 
looked  frightened.  It  was  evident  that  Denham 
was  losing  his  mind.  She  put  the  letter  down 
before  him  and  said  : 

•'  You  addressed  that  to  me  the  second  time, 
Mr.  Denham." 

There  was  a  look  of  haggard  anxiety  about 
Denham  that  gave  color  to  her  suspicions.  He 
felt  that  it  was  now  or  never. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  answer  it,  Miss  Gale?  " 
he  said  gruffly. 

She  backed  away  from  him. 

"  Answer  it  ?  "  she  repeated  faintly. 


1 


n 


It 
tt 


hi 
a 
hi 
a( 
s\ 
w 
pi 

b< 
w 
Y 


rl 


J 


Zbc  ^i2PC*written  Xctter. 


63 


"  Certainly.  If  I  got  a  letter  twice,  I  would 
answer  it." 

••  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried,  with  her 
hand  on  the  door-knob. 

"  Exactly  what  the  letter  says.  I  want  you 
for  my  partner.  I  want  to  marry  you,  and 
d n  financial  considerations " 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Miss  Gale,  in  a  long-drawn, 
quivering  sigh.  She  was  doubtless  shocked  at 
^he  word  he  had  used,  and  fled  to  her  type- 
writing room,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Richard  Denham  paced  up  and  down  the 
floor  for  a  few  moments,  then  rapped  lightly  at 
her  door,  but  there  was  no  response.  He  put 
on  his  hat  and  went  out  into  the  street.  After 
a  long  and  aimless  walk,  he  found  himself  again 
at  his  place  of  business.  When  he  went  in, 
Rogers  said  to  him  : 

*'  Miss  Gale  has  left,  sir.*" 

"  Has  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  has  given  notice.  Says  she  is 
not  coming  back,  sir." 

"  Very  well." 

He  went  into  his  own  room  and  found  a 
letter  marked  "  personal "  on  his  desk.  He  tore 
it  open,  and  read  in  neatly  type-written  charac- 
ters : 

"  I  have  resigned  my  place  as  typewriter  girl, 
having  been  offered  a  better  situation.  I  am  offered 
a  partnership  in  the  house  of  Richard  Denham.  I 
have  decided  to  accept  the  position,  not  so  much  on 
account  of  its  financial  attrr  '^tions,  as  because  I 
shall  be  glad,  on  a  friendly  basis,  to  be  associated 
with  the  gentleman  I  have  named.  Why  did  you 
put  me  to  all  that  worry  writing  that  idiotic  letter, 
when  a  few  words  would  have  saved  ever  so  much 
bother  ?  You  evidently  neec/B.  partner.  My  mother 
will  l>e  pleased  to  meet  you  any  time  you  call. 
You  have  the  address, — Your  friend, 

"  Margaret  Gale.  " 


m 


11 


r  fl 


64 


TIbe  jface  and  tbe  /Cbadli* 


"  Rogers ! "  shouted  Denham,  joyfrily, 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  that  estimable  man, 
putting  his  head  into  the  room. 

•'  Advertise  for  another  typewriter  girl, 
Rogers." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rogers. 


If     ■) 


h     'It 


1| 


11 


■i 


THE  DOOM  OF  LONDON. 


I. — The  Self-conceit  of  the  2oth 
Century. 

I  trust  I  am  thankful  my  life  has  been 
spared  until  I  have  seen  that  most  brilliant 
epoch  of  the  world's  history — the  middle  of  the 
20th  century.  It  would  be  useless  for  any  man 
to  disparage  the  vast  achievements  of  the  past 
fifty  years,  and  if  I  venture  to  call  attention  to 
the  fact,  now  apparently  forgotten,  that  the 
people  of  the  19th  century  succeeded  in  ac- 
complishing many  notable  things,  it  must  not  be 
imagined  that  I  intend  thereby  to  discount  in 
any  measure  the  marvellous  mventions  of  the 
present  age.  Men  have  always  been  somewhat 
prone  to  look  with  a  certain  condescension  upon 
those  who  lived  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  before 
them.  This  seems  to  me  the  especial  weakness 
of  the  present  age  ;  a  feeling  of  national  self- 
conceit,  which,  when  it  exists,  should  at  least  be 
kept  as  much  in  the  background  as  possible. 
It  will  astonish  many  to  know  that  such  also 
was  a  failing  of  the  people  of  the  19th  century. 
They  imagined  themselves  living  in  an  age  of 
progress,  and  while  I  am  not  foolish  enough  to 
attempt  to  prove  that  they  did  anything  really 
worth  recording,  yet  it  must  be  admitted  by  any 
unprejudiced  man  of  research  that  their  inven- 
tions were  at  least  stepping-stones  to  those  of 
to-day.  Although  the  telephone  and  telegraph, 
and  all  other  electrical   appliances,  are  now  to 


i 


^ 


66 


^be  jfacc  auD  tbe  ltsae\{. 


! 


If 

I 


i^ 


t- 


1        '1 

^■1 


B 

be  found  only  in  our  national  museums,  or  in 
the  private  collections  of  those  few  men  who 
take  any  interest  in  the  doings  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, nevertheless,  the  study  of  the  now  obsolete 
science  of  electricity  led  up  to  the  recent  dis- 
covery of  vibratory  ether  which  does  the  work 
of  the  world  so  satisfactorily.  The  people  of 
the  19th  century  were  not  fools,  and  although  I 
am  well  aware  that  this  statement  will  be 
received  with  scorn  where  it  attracts  any  atten- 
tion whatever,  yet  who  can  say  that  the  progress 
of  the  next  half-century  may  not  be  as  great  as 
that  of  the  one  now  ended,  and  that  the  people 
of  the  next  centin*y  may  not  look  upon  us  with 
the  same  contempt  which  we  feel  toward  those 
who  lived  fifty  years  ago  ? 

Being  an  old  man,  I  am,  perhaps,  a  laggard 
who  dwells  in  the  past  rather  than  the  present); 
still,  it  seems  to  me  that  such  an  article  as  that 
which  appeared  recently  in  Blackwood  ixovn  the 
talented  pen  of  Prof.  Mowberry,  of  Oxford 
University,  is  utterly  unjustifiable.  Under  the 
title  of  "  Did  the  People  of  London  Deserve 
their  Fate  ?  "  he  endeavors  to  show  that  the 
simultaneous  blotting  out  01  millions  of  human 
beings  was  a  beneficial  event,  the  good  results 
of  which  we  still  enjoy.  According  to  him, 
Londoners  were  so  dull-witted  and  stupid,  so 
incapable  of  improvement,  so  sodden  in  the 
vice  of  mere  money-gathering,  that  nothing  but 
their  total  extinction  would  have  sufficed,  and 
that,  instead  of  being  an  appalling  catastrophe, 
the  doom  of  London  was  an  unmixed  blessing. 
In  spite  of  the  unanimous  approval  with  which 
this  article  has  been  received  by  the  press,  I 
still  maintain  that  such  writing  is  uncalled  for, 
and  that  there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the 
London  of  the  19th  century. 


t 

hi 


Zbc  S)oom  ot  XonDon. 


67 


II.— Why  London,  Warned,  Was  Unpre- 

PARED. 


The  indignation  I  felt  in  first  reading  the  ar- 
ticle alluded  to  still  remains  with  me,  and  it 
has  caused  me  to  write  these  words,  giving 
some  account  of  what  I  must  still  regard,  in 
spite  of  the  sneers  of  the  present  age,  as  the 
most  terrible  disaster  that  ever  overtook  a  por- 
tion of  the  human  race.  I  shall  not  endeavor 
to  place  before  those  who  read,  any  record  of 
the  achievements  pertaining  to  the  time  in 
question.  But  I  would  like  to  say  a  few  words 
about  the  alleged  stupidity  of  the  people  of 
London  in  making  no  preparations  for  a  disas- 
ter regarding  which  they  had  continual  and 
ever-recurring  warning.  They  have  been  com- 
pared with  the  inhabitants  of  Pompeii  making 
merry  at  the  foot  of  a  volcano.  In  the  first 
place,  fogs  were  so  common  in  London,  espe- 
cially in  winter,  that  no  particular  attention  was 
paid  to  them.  They  were  merely  looked  upon 
as  inconvenient  annoyances,  interrupting  traffic 
and  prejudicial  to  health,  but  I  doubt  if  anyone 
thought  it  possible  for  a  fog  to  become  one  vast 
»mothering  mattress  pressed  down  upon  a 
whole  metropolis,  extinguishing  life  as  if  the 
city  [[suffered  from  hopeless  hydrophobia.  I 
have  read  that  victims  bitten  by  mad  dogs  were 
formerly  put  out  of  their  suffermgs  in  thatj^way, 
although  I  doubt  much  if  such  things  were 
ever  actually  done,  notwithstanding  the  charges 
of  savage  barbarity  now  made  against  the  peo- 
ple of  the  19th  century. 

Probably,  the  inhabitants  of  Pompeii  were  so 
accustomed  to  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius  that 
they  gave  no  thought  to  the  possibility  of  their 
city  being  destroyed  by  a  storm  of  ashes  and 
an  overflow  of  lava.  Rain  frequently  de- 
scended upon  London,  and  if  a  rainfall  con- 


f 


I     1 


K-.  ■■ 


(l 


68 


XTbe  ^ace  anO  tbe  yiSadft, 


■I 


tinued  long  enough  it  would  certainly  have 
flooded  the  metropolis,  but  no  precautions 
were  taken  against  a  flood  from  the  clouds. 
"Why,  then,  should  the  people  have  been  ex- 
pected to  prepare  for  a  catastrophe  from  fog, 
such  as  there  had  never  been  any  experience  of 
in  the  world's  history  ?  The  people  of  London 
were  far  trom  being  the  sluggish  dolts  present- 
day  writers  would  have  us  believe. 

III.— The  Coincidence  that  Came  at 

Last. 

As  fog  has  now  been  abolished  both  on  sea 
and  land,  and  as  few  of  the  present  generation 
have  even  seen  one,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place 
to  give  a  few  lines  on  the  subject  of  fogs  in  gen- 
eral, and  the  London  fogs  in  particular,  which 
through  local  peculiarities  differed  from  all 
others.  A  fog  was  simply  watery  vapor  rising 
from  the  marshy  surface  of  the  land  or  from 
the  sea,  or  condensed  into  a  cloud  from  the 
saturated  atmosphere.  In  my  day,  fogs  were  a 
great  danger  at  sea,  for  people  then  travelled 
by  means  of  steamships  that  sailed  upon  the 
surface  of  the  ocean. 

London  at  the  end  of  the  19th  century 
consumed  vast  quantities  of  a  soft  bituminous 
coal  for  the  purpose  of  heating  rooms  and  of  pre- 
paring food.  In  the  morning  and  during  the 
day,  clouds  of  black  smoke  were  poured  forth 
from  thousands  of  chimneys.  When  a  mass  of 
white  vapor  arose  in  the  night  these  clouds  of 
smoke  fell  upon  the  fog,  pressing  it  down,  fil- 
tering slowly  through  it,  and  adding  to  its  den- 
sity. The  sun  would  have  absorbed  the  fog 
but  for  the  layer  of  smoke  that  lay  thick  above 
the  vapor  and  prevented  the  rays  reaching  it. 
Once  this  condition  of  things  prevailed,  nothing 
could  clear  London  but  a  breeze  of  wind  from 


Zbe  S>oom  o(  XonOon. 


69 


any  direction.  London  frequently  had  a  seven 
days'  fog,  and  sometimes  a  seven  days'  calm, 
but  these  two  conditions  never  coincided  until 
the  last  year  of  the  last  century.  The  coinci- 
dence, as  everyone  knows,  meant  death — death 
so  wholesale  that  no  war  the  earth  has  ever 
seen  left  such  slaughter  behind  it.  To  under- 
stand the  situation,  one  has  only  to  imagine  the 
fog  as  taking  the  place  of  the  ashes  at  Pompeii, 
and  the  coal-smoke  as  being  the  lava  that  cov- 
ered it.  The  result  to  the  inhabitants  in  both 
cases  was  exactly  the  same. 

IV. — The  American  Who  Wanted  to 

Sell. 

I  WAS  at  the  time  confidential  clerk  to  the 
house  of  Fulton,  Brixton  &  Co.,  a  firm  in  Can- 
non Street,  dealing  largely  in  chemicals  and 
chemical  apparatus.  Fulton  I  never  knew;  he 
died  long  before  my  time.  Sir  John  Brixton 
was  my  chief,  knighted,  I  believe,  for  services  to 
his  party,  or  because  he  was  an  official  in  the 
City  during  some  royal  progress  through  it ;  I 
have  forgotten  which.  My  small  room  was 
next  to  his  large  one,  and  my  chief  duty  was  ta 
see  that  no  one  had  an  interview  with  Sir  John 
unless  he  was  an  important  man  or  had  impor- 
tant business.  Sir  John  was  a  difficult  man  to 
see,  and  a  difficult  man  to  deal  with  when 
he  was  seen.  He  had  little  respect  for 
most  men's  feelings,  and  none  at  all  for 
mine.  If  I  allowed  a  man  to  enter  his  room 
who  should  have  been  dealt  with  by  one  of  the 
minor  members  of  the  company.  Sir  John  made 
no  effort  to  conceal  his  opinion  of  me.  One 
day,  in  the  autumn  of  the  last  year  of  the  cen- 
tury, an  American  was  shown  into  my  room. 
Nothing  would  do  but  he  must  have  an  inter- 
view with  Sir  John  Brixton.     I  told  him  that  it 


i 


^ 


i 

v. 

.>    : 

if 


70 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  /l^adli. 


was  impossible,  as  Sir  John  was  extremely  busy, 
but  that  if  he  explained  his  business  to  me  I 
would  lay  it  before  Sir  John  at  the  first  favor- 
able opportunity.  The  American  demurred  at 
this,  but  finally  accepted  the  inevitable.  He 
was  the  inventor,  he  said,  of  a  machine  that 
would  revolutionize  life  in  London,  and  he 
wanted  Fulton,  Brixton  &  Co.  to  become  agents 
for  it.  The  machine,  which  he  had  in  a  small 
handbag  with  him,  was  of  white  metal,  and  i: 
was  so  constructed  that  by  turning  an  index  it 
gave  out  greater  or  less  volumes  of  oxyeen  gas. 
The  gas,  I  understood,  was  stored  in  the  inte- 
rior in  liquid  form  under  great  pressure,  and 
would  last,  if  I  remember  rightly,  for  six  months 
without  recharging.  There  was  also  a  rubber 
tube  with  a  mouthpiece  attached  to  it,  and  the 
American  said  that  if  a  man  took  a  few  whiffs 
a  day  he  would  experience  beneficial  results. 
Now,  I  knew  there  was  not  the  slightest  use  in 
showing  the  machine  to  Sir  John,  because  we 
dealt  in  old-established  British  apparatus,  and 
never  in  any  of  the  new-fangled  Yankee  inven- 
tions. Besides,  Sir  John  had  a  prejudice  against 
Americans,  and  I  felt  sure  this  man  would  ex- 
asperate him,  as  he  was  a  most  cadaverous 
specimen  of  the  race,  with  high  nasal  tones, 
and  a  most  deplorable  pronunciation,  much 
given  to  phrases  savoring  of  slang ;  and  he  ex- 
hibited also  a  certain  nervous  familiarity  of 
demeanor  towards  people  to  whom  he  was  all 
but  a  complete  stranger.  It  was  impossible  for 
me  to  allow  such  a  man  to  enter  the  presence 
of  Sir  John  Brixton,  and  when  he  returned  some 
days  later  I  explained  to  him,  I  hope  with  cour- 
tesy, that  the  head  of  the  house  regretted  very 
much  his  inability  to  consider  his  proposal  re- 
garding the  machine.  The  ardor  A  the  American 
seemed  in  no  way  dampened  by  this  rebuff. 
He  said  I  could  not  have  explained  the  possibili* 


Zbc  2)oom  ot  XonDon. 


71 


ties  of  the  apparatus  properly  to  Sir  John ;  he 
characterized  it  as  a  great  invention,  and  said  it 
meant  a  fortune  to  whoever  obtained  the  agency 
for  it.  He  hinted  that  other  noted  London 
houses  were  anxious  to  secure  it,  but  for  some 
reason  not  stated  he  preferred  to  deal  with  us. 
He  left  some  printed  pamphlets  referring  to  the 
invention,  and  said  he  would  call  again. 

v.— The  American  Sees  Sir  John. 

Many  a  time  I   have  since  thought  of  that 

f)ersistent  American,  and  wondered  whether  he 
eft  London  before  the  disaster,  or  was  one  of 
the  unidentified  thousands  who  were  buried  in 
unmarked  graves.  Little  did  Sir  John  think 
when  he  expelled  him  with  some  asperity  from 
his  presence,  that  he  was  turning  away  an  offer 
of  life,  and  that  the  heated  words  he  used  were, 
in  reality,  a  sentence  of  death  upon  himself. 
For  my  own  part,  I  regret  that  I  lost  my  tem- 
per, and  told  the  American  his  business  methods 
did  not  commend  themselves  to  me.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  feel  the  sting  of  this  ;  indeed,  I  feel 
certain  he  did  not,  for,  unknowingly,  he  saved 
my  life.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  showed  no  re- 
sentment, but  immediately  asked  me  out  to 
drink  with  him,  an  offer  I  was  compelled  to 
refuse.  But  I  am  getting  ahead  of  my  story. 
Indeed,  being  unaccustomed  to  writing,  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  set  down  events  in  their  pro- 
per sequence.  The  American  called  upon  me 
several  times  after  I  told  him  our  house  could 
not  deal  with  him.  He  got  into  the  habit  of 
dropping  in  upon  me  unannounced,  which  I  did 
not  at  all  like,  but  I  gave  no  instructions  regard- 
ing his  intrusions,  because  I  had  no  idea  of  the 
extremes  to  which  he  was  evidently  prepared  to 
go.  One  day,  as  he  sat  near  my  desk  reading 
a   paper,  I  was  temporarily  called    from    the 


1 

•I 


7a 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbe  ^asTi* 


4 


i'  ! 


K 


room.  When  I  returned  I  thought  he  had 
gone,  taking  his  machine  with  him,  but  a 
moment  later  I  was  shocked  to  hear  his  high 
nasal  tones  in  Sir  John's  room  alternating  with 
the  deep  notes  of  my  chief's  voice,  which  ap- 
parently exercised  no  such  dread  upon  the 
American  as  upon  those  who  were  more  ac- 
customed to  them.  I  at  once  entered  the 
room,  and  was  about  to  explain  to  Sir  John 
that  the  American  was  there  through  no  conni- 
vance of  mine,  when  my  chief  asked  me  to  be 
silent,  and,  turning  to  his  visitor,  gruffly  re- 
quested him  to  proceed  with  his  interesting 
narration.  The  inventor  needed  no  second  in- 
vitation, but  went  on  with  his  glib  talk,  while 
Sir  John's  frown  grew  deeper,  and  his  face 
became  redder  under  his  fringe  of  white  hair. 
When  the  American  had  finished,  Sir  John 
roughly  bade  him  begone,  and  take  his  accursed 
machine  with  him.  He  said  it  was  an  insult 
for  a  person  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  to  bring 
a  so-called  health  invention  to  a  robust  man 
who  never  had  a  day's  illness.  I  do  not  know 
why  he  listened  so  long  to  the  American,  when 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  from  the  first  not  to 
deal  with  him,  unless  it  was  to  punish  me  for 
inadvertently  allowing  the  stranger  to  enter. 
Tlie  interview  distressed  me  exceedingly,  as  I 
stood  there  helpless,  knowing  Sir  John  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  angry  with  every  word 
the  foreigner  uttered,  but,  at  last,  I  succeeded  in 
drawing  the  inventor  and  his  work  into  my  own 
room  and  closing  the  door.  I  sincerely  hoped 
I  would  never  see  the  American  again,  and  my 
wish  was  gratified.  He  insisted  on  setting  his 
machine  going,  and  placing  it  on  a  shelf  in  my 
room.  He  asked  me  to  slip  it  into  Sir  John's 
room  come  foggy  day  and  note  the  effect. 
The  man  said  he  would  call  again,  but  he  never 
did. 


( 


Z\)c  S)oom  ot  XouDon. 


75 


VI.— How  THE  Smoke  Held  Down  the 

Fog. 

It  was  on  a  Friday  that  the  foq^  came  down  up- 
on us.  The  weather  was  very  fine  up  to  the  mid- 
dle of  November  that  autumn.  The  fog  di'i  not 
seem  to  have  anythinij  unusual  about  it.  I  have 
seen  many  worse  foq^s  than  that  appeared  to  be. 
As  day  followed  day,  however,  the  atmosphere 
became  denser  and  darker,  caused,  I  suppose,  by 
the  increasing  volume  of  coal-smoke  poured  out 
upon  it.  The  peculiarity  about  those  seven  days 
was  the  intense  stillness  of  the  air.  We  were,  al- 
though we  did  not  know  it,  under  an  air-proof 
canopy,  and  were  slowly  but  surely  exhausting 
the  life-giving  oxygen  around  us,  and  replacing 
it  by  poisonous  carbonic  acid  gas.  Scientific 
men  have  since  showed  that  a  simple  mathe- 
matical calculation  might  have  told  us  exactly 
when  the  last  atom  of  oxygen  would  have  been 
consumed ;  but  it  is  easy  to  be  wise  after  the 
event.  The  body  of  the  greatest  mathemati- 
cian in  England  was  found  in  the  Strand. 
He  came  that  morning  from  Cambridge.  Dur- 
ing the  fog  there  was  always  a  marked  increase 
in  the  death  rate,  and  on  this  occasion  the  in- 
crease was  no  greater  than  usual  until  the  sixth 
day.  The  newspapers  on  the  morning  of  the 
seventh  were  full  of  startling  statistics,  but  at 
the  time  of  going  to  press  the  full  significance 
of  the  alarming  figures  was  not  realized.  The 
editorials  of  the  morning  papers  on  the  seventh 
day  contained  no  warning  of  the  calamity  that 
was  so  speedily  to  follow  their  appearance.  I 
lived  *hen  at  Ealing,  a  Western  suburb  of  Lon- 
d  >n,  ui.d  came  every  morning  to  Cannon  Street 
by  a  certain  train.  I  had  up  to  the  sixth  day 
experienced  no  inconvenience  from  the  fog,  and 
this  was  largely  due,  I  am  convinced,  to  the  un- 
noticed  operations  of  the  American  machine. 


I'  * 


^i 


u 


/, 


H 


<•  if  ' 


^1 


74 


Zbc  face  and  tbe  Aa0li. 


On  the  fifth  and  sixth  days  Sir  John  did  not 
come  to  the  City,  but  he  was  in  his  office  on 
the  seventh.  The  door  between  his  room  and 
mine  was  closed.  Shortly  after  ten  o'clock  I 
heard  a  cry  in  his  room,  followed  by  a  heavy  fall. 
I  opened  the  door,  and  saw  Sir  John  lying  face 
downwards  on  the  floor.  Hastening  towards 
him,  I  felt  for  the  first  time  the  deadly  effect  of 
the  deoiygenized  atmosphere,  and  before  I 
reached  him  I  fell  first  on  one  knee  and  then 
headlong.  I  realized  that  my  senses  were  leav- 
ing me,  and  instinctively  crawled  back  to  my 
own  room,  where  the  oppression  was  at  once 
lifted,  and  I  stood  again  upon  my  feet,  gasp- 
ing. I  closed  the  door  of  Sir  John's  room, 
thinking  it  filled  with  poisonous  fumes,  as,  in- 
deed, it  was.  I  called  loudly  for  help,  but 
there  was  no  answer.  On  opening  the  door  to 
the  main  office  I  met  again  what  I  thought  was 
the  noxious  vapor.  Speedily  as  I  closed  the 
door,  I  was  impressed  by  the  intense  silence  of 
the  usually  busy  office,  and  saw  that  some  of 
the  clerks  were  motionless  on  the  floor,  and 
others  sat  with  their  heads  on  their  desks  as  if 
asleep.  Even  at  this  awful  moment  I  did  not 
realize  that  what  I  saw  was  common  to  all  Lon- 
don, and  not,  as  I  imagined,  a  local  disaster, 
caused  by  the  breaking  of  some  carboys  in  our 
cellar.  (It  was  filled  with  chemicals  of  every 
kind,  of  whose  properties  1  was  ignorant,  dealing 
as  I  did  with  the  accountant,  and  not  the  scientific 
side  of  our  business.)  I  opened  the  only  win- 
dow in  my  room,  and  again  shouted  for  help. 
The  street  was  silent  and  dark  in  the  ominously 
still  fog,  and  what  now  froze  me  with  horror 
was  meeting  the  same  deadly,  stifling  atmos- 
phere that  was  in  the  rooms.  In  falling  I 
brought  down  the  window,  and  shut  out  the 
poisonous  air.  Again  I  revived,  and  slow/y  the 
true  state  of  things  began   to  dawn  upon   me. 


JLbc  S)oom  ot  londoiu 


75 


not 


not 
en- 
ter, 
our 
ery 
ing 
ific 
in- 
elp. 
sly 
rror 


I  was  in  an  oasis  of  oxygen.  I  at  once  sur- 
mised that  the  machine  on  my  shelf  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  existence  of  this  oasis  in  a 
vast  desert  of  deadly  gas.  I  took  down  the 
American's  machine,  fearful  in  moving  it  that  I 
might  stop  its  working.  Taking  the  mouth- 
piece between  my  lips  I  again  entered  Sir  John's 
room,  this  time  without  feeling  any  ill  effects. 
My  poor  master  was  long  beyond  human  help. 
There  was  evidently  no  one  alive  in  the  building 
except  myself.  Out  in  the  street  all  was  silent 
and  dark.  The  gas  was  extinguished,  but  here 
and  there  in  shops  the  incandescent  lights  were 
still  weirdly  burning,  depending,  as  they  did,  on 
accumulators,  and  not  on  direct  engine  power. 
I  turned  automatically  towards  Cannon  Street 
Station,  knowing  my  way  to  it  even  if  blind- 
folded, stumbling  over  bodies  prone  on  the 
pavement,  and  in  crossing  the  street  I  ran  against 
a  motionless  'bus,  spectral  in  the  fog,  with  dead 
horses  lying  in  front,  and  their  reins  dangling 
from  the  nerveless  hand  of  a  dead  driver.  The 
ghostlike  passengers,  equally  silent,  sat  bolt  up- 
right, or  hung  over  the  edge-boards  in  attitudes 
horribly  grotesque. 


VII.— The  Train 


WITH  ITS  Trail  of  the 
Dead. 


If  a  man's  reasoning  faculties  were  alert  at 
such  a  time  (I  confess  mine  were  dormant),  he 
would  have  known  there  could  be  no  trains 
at  Cannon  Street  Station,  for  if  there  was  not 
enough  oxygen  in  the  air  to  keep  a  man  alive, 
or  a  gas-jet  ali,i;ht,  there  would  certainly  not 
be  enough  to  enable  an  engine  fire  to  burn, 
even  if  the  engineer  retained  sufficient  energy 
to  attend  to  his  task.  At  times  instinct  is 
better  than  reason,  and  it  proved  so  in  this 
case.     The  railway  from  Ealing  in   those  days 


t 


'  I 


.'/] 


'        \ 


^fi 


n 


?» 


76 


tTbe  jpace  anO  tbe  Aaelt. 


n 


i' 


/. 


came  under  the  City  in  a  deep  tunnel.  It 
would  appear  that  in  this  underground  passage 
the  carbonic  acid  gas  would  first  find  a  rest- 
ing-place on  account  of  its  weight ;  but  such 
was  not  the  fact.  I  imagine  that  a  current 
through  the  tunnel  brought  from  the  outlying 
districts  a  supply  of  comparatively  pure  air 
that,  for  some  minutes  after  the  general  dis- 
aster, maintained  human  life.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  long  platforms  of  Cannon  Street  Un- 
derground Station  presented  a  fearful  specta- 
cle. A  train  stood  at  the  down  platform. 
The  electric  lights  burned  fitfully.  This  plat- 
form was  crowded  with  men,  who  fought  each 
other  like  demons,  apparently  for  no  reason, 
because  the  train  was  already  packed  as  full 
as  it  could  hold.  Hundreds  were  dead  under 
foot,  and  every  now  and  then  a  blast  of  foul 
air  came  along  the  tunnel,  whereupon  hun- 
dreds more  would  relax  their  grips,  and  suc- 
cumb. Over  their  bodies  the  survivors  fought, 
with  continually  thinning  ranks.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  most  of  those  in  the  standing  train 
were  dead.  Sometimes  a  desperate  body  of 
fighters  climbed  over  those  lying  in  heaps  and, 
throwing  open  a  carriage  door,  hauled  out 
passengers  already  in,  and  took  their  places, 
gasping.  Those  in  the  train  offered  no  resist- 
ance, and  lay  motionless  where  they  were  flung, 
or  rolled  helplessly  under  the  wheels  of  the 
train.  I  made  my  way  along  the  wall  as  well 
as  I  could  to  the  engine,  wondering  why  the 
train  did  not  go.  Tiie  engineer  lay  on  the  floor 
of  his  cab,  and  the  fires  were  out. 

Custom  is  a  curious  thing.  The  struggling 
mob,  fighting  wildly  for  places  in  the  carriages, 
were  so  accustomed  to  trains  arriving  and 
departing  that  it  apparently  occurred  to  none  of 
them  that  the  engineer  was  human  and  subject 
to  the   same   atmospheric  conditions  as  them- 


i 
4 


Cbc  Doom  ot  XonDon. 


77 


selves.     I  placed   the   mouthpiece   between  his 
purple  lips,  and,  holding  my  own  breath    like  a 
submerged  man,  succeeded  in  reviving  him.    He 
said  that  if    1   gave  him  the  machine  he  would 
take  out  the  train  as  far  as  the  steam  already 
in  the  boiler  would  carry  it.     I    refused   to   do 
this,  but  stepped  on   the  engine  with   him,  say- 
ing it  would  keep  life  in  both  of  us  until  we  got 
out    into   better   air.     In   a  surly   manner   he 
agreed  to  this  and   started  the  train,  but  he  did 
not  play  fair.     Each  time  he  refused  to  give  up 
the  machine  until  I  was  in  a  fainting  condition 
with    holding   in    my  breath,   and,    finally,    he 
felled  me  to  the  floor   of   the   cab.     I   imagine 
that  the  machine  rolled  off  the  train  as  I    fell 
and  that  he  jumped   after  it.     The  remarkable 
thing  is  that  neither  of  us  needed  the  machine, 
for  I  remember  that   just   after  we   started  I 
noticed  through  the  open   iron   door   that  the 
engine   fire  suddenly   became  aglow  again,  al- 
though at  the  time  I  was  in  too  great  a  state  of 
bewilderment  and  horror  to  understand  what  it 
meant.     A  western  gale    had   sprung   up — an 
hour  too  late.    Even  before  we  left  Cannon  Street 
those    who  still   survived    were   comparatively 
safe,  for  one  hundred   and  sixty-seven  persons 
were  rescued    from   that   fearful    heap  of  dead 
on  the  platforms,  although  many  died  within  a 
day  or  two  after,   and   others   never   recovered 
their     reason.     When   I   regained    my   senses 
after  the  blow  dealt  by  the   engineer,    I    found 
myself  alone,  and  the  train  speeding  across  the 
Thames  near  Kew.     1  tried  to  stop  the  engine, 
but  did  not  succeed.     However,  in  experiment- 
ing, I  managed  to  turn  on  the  air  brake,  which 
in  some  degree  checked  the  train,  and  lessened 
the  impact  when  the  crash  came  at  Richmond 
terminus.     I  sprang  off  on  the  platform   before 
the  engine  reached   the   terminal   buffers,   and 
saw  passing  me  like   a  nightmare  the  ghastly 


\  ?^  '4 


f 


if 


78 


^be  jface  anD  tbc  Aaalt* 


trainload  of  the  dead.  Most  of  the  doors  were 
swinging  open,  and  every  compartment  was 
jammed  full,  although,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
at  each  curve  of  the  permanent  way,  or  extra 
lurch  of  the  train,  bodies  had  fallen  out  all 
along  the  line.  The  smash  at  Richmond  made 
no  difference  to  the  passengers.  Besides  my- 
self, only  two  persons  were  taken  alive  from 
the  train,  and  one  of  these,  his  clothes  torn 
from  his  back  in  the  struggle  was  sent  to  an 
asylum,  where  he  was  never  able  to  tell  who  he 
was ;  neither,  as  far  as  I  know,  did  anyone  ever 
claim  him. 


iv 


> 


I  V 


i! 


THE  PREDICAMENT  OF 
DE  PLONVILLE. 

This  story  differs  from  others  in  having  an 
assortment  of  morals.  Most  stories  have  one 
moral ;  here  are  several.  The  moral  usually 
appears  at  the  end — in  this  case  a  few  are 
mentioned  at  the  beginning,  so  that  they  may 
be  looked  out  for  as  the  readinj^  progresses. 
First :  it  is  well  for  a  man — especially  a  young 
man — to  attend  to  his  own  business.  Second  . 
in  planning  a  person's  life  for  some  little  distance 
ahead,  it  will  be  a  mistake  if  an  allowance  of  ten 
per  cent,  at  least,  is  not  made  for  that  unknown 
quantity — woman.  Third:  it  is  beneficial  to 
remember  that  one  man  rarely  knows  every- 
thing. Other  morals  will  doubtless  present 
themselves,  and  at  the  end  the  cynically-inclined 
person  may  reflect  upon  the  adage  about  the 
'i  ying-pan  and  the  fire. 

Young  M.  de  Plonville  of  Paris  enjoyed  a 
most  enviable  position.  He  had  all  the  money 
he  needed,  which  is  quite  a  different  thing  from 
saying  he  had  all  the  money  he  wanted.  He  was 
well  educated,  and  spoke  three  languages, 
that  is,  he  spoke  his  own  well  and  the  other  two 
badly,  but  as  a  man  always  prides  himself  on 
what  he  is  least  able  to  do,  De  Plonville  fancied 
himself  a  linguist.  His  courage  in  speaking 
English  to  Englishmen  and  German  to  Germans 
showed  that  he  was,  at  least,  a  brave  man. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  good  and  even  of 


I 


\ 


6o 


XTbe  face  and  tbe  /Bbaeft. 


« 

I 

f 

H 

1 

'\ 

i  t 

' «, 


talent  in  De  Plonville.  This  statement  is  made 
at  the  bejjinninv^,  because  everyone  who  knows 
De  Plonville  will  at  once  unhesitatinjj;^ly  con- 
tradict it.  His  acquaintances  thought  him  one 
of  the  most  objectionable  young  men  in  Paris, 
and  naval  officers,  when  his  name  was  men- 
tioned, usually  gave  themselves  over  to  strong 
and  unjustifiable  language.  This  was  all  on 
account  of  De  Plonville's  position,  which, 
although  enviable  had  its  drawbacks. 

His  rank  in  the  navy  was  such  that  it  entitled 
him  to  no  consideration  w'hatever,  but,  unfor- 
tunately for  his  own  popularity,  De  Plonville 
had  a  method  of  giving  force  to  his  suggestions. 
His  father  was  a  very  big  man  in  the 
French  Government.  He  was  so  big  a  man 
that  he  could  send  a  censure  to  the  commander 
of  a  squadron  in  the  navy,  and  the  commander 
dare  not  talk  back.  It  takes  a  very  big  man 
indeed  to  do  this,  and  that  was  the  elder  De 
Plonville's  size.  But  then  it  was  well  known 
that  the  elder  De  Plonville  was  an  easy-going 
man  who  loved  comfort,  and  did  not  care  to 
trouble  himself  too  much  about  the  navy  in  his 
charge,  and  so  when  there  was  trouble,  young 
De  Plonville  got  the  credit  of  it ;  consequently, 
the  love  of  the  officers  did  not  flow  out  to  him. 

Often  young  De  Plonville's  idiotic  impetu- 
osity gave  color  to  these  suspicions.  For  in- 
stance, there  is  the  well-known  Toulon  incident. 
In  a  heated  controversy  young  De  Plonville  had 
claimed  that  the  firing  of  the  French  ironclads 
was  something  execrable,  and  rhc.t  the  whole 
fleet  could  not  hold  their  own  at  the  cannon 
with  any  ten  of  the  British  navy.  Some  time 
after,  the  naval  officers  learned  that  the  Govern- 
ment at  Paris  was  very  much  displeased  with 
the  inaccurate  gun  practice  of  the  fleet,  and  the 
hope  was  expressed  that  the  commander  would 
see   his  way  to  improving  it.    Of  course,  the 


■l    ■( 


his 


XLbc  pteDicamenl  ot  2>e  plonvillc*  Si 

officers  could  do  nothing  but  gnash  their  teeth, 
try  to  shoot  better,  and  hope  for  a  time  to  come 
when  the  Government  then  in  power  would  be 
out,  and  they  could  find  some  tangible  pretence 
for  hanging  young  De  Plonville  from  the  yard- 
arm. 

All  this  has  only  a  remote  bearing  upon  this 
story,  but  we  now  come  to  a  matter  on  which 
the  story  sinks  or  swims.  De  Plonville  had  a 
secret — not  such  a  secret  as  is  common  in 
Parisian  life,  but  one  entirely  creditable  to  him. 
It  related  to  an  invention  intended  to  increase 
the  efficiency  of  the  French  army.  The  army 
being  a  branch  of  the  defences  of  his  country 
with  which  Ue  Plonville  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do,  his  attention  naturally  turned  towards  it. 
He  spoke  of  this  invention,  once,  to  a  friend,  a 
lieutenant  in  the  army.  He  expected  to  get 
some  practical  suggestions.  He  never  men- 
tioned it  again  to  anyone. 

"  It  is  based  on  the  principle  of  the  umbrella," 
he  said  to  his  friend ;  "  in  fact,  it  was  the 
umbrella  that  suggested  it  to  me.  If  it  could  be 
made  very  light  so  as  not  to  add  seriously  to 
the  impedimenta  at  present  carried  by  the 
soldier,  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be  exceedingly 
useful.  Instead  of  being  circular  as  an  umbrel.a 
is,  it  must  be  oblong  with  sharp  ends.  It  would 
have  to  be  arranged  so  as  to  be  opened  and  closed 
quickly,  with  the  cloth  thin,  but  impervious  to 
water.  When  the  army  reached  a  river  each  sol- 
dier could  open  this,  place  it  in  the  water,  enter  it 
with  some  care,  and  then  paddle  himself  across 
with  the  butt-end  of  his  gun,  or  even  with  a  light 
paddle,  if  the  carrying  of  it  added  but  little  to  the 
weight,  thus  saving  the  building  of  temporary 
bridges.  It  seems  to  me  such  an  invention  ought 
to  be  of  vast  use  in  a  forced  march.  Then  at  night 
it  might  be  used  as  a  sort  of  tent,  or  in  a  heavy 
rain  it  would  form  a  temporary  shelter.     What 


>*re 


■x— 


i 


/( 


; 

1 

I 
( 

1 

1 

82 


^be  face  and  tbc  /Ibadft. 


do  you  thirk  of  the  idea  ?  "  His  friend  had 
hstened  with  half-closed  eyes.  He  blew  a  whiff 
of  cigarette  smoke  from  his  nostrils  and 
answered: 

"  It  is  wonderful,  Ue  Plonville,"  he  said 
drawlingly.  "  Its  possibilities  are  vast — more 
so  than  even  you  appear  to  think.  It  would  be 
very  useful  in  our  Alpine  corps  as  well." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.     But  why  there  ?  " 

'•  Well,  you  see,  if  the  army  reached  a  high 
peak  looking  into  a  deep  valley,  only  to  be 
reached  over  an  inaccessible  precipice,  all  the 
army  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  spread  out 
your  superb  invention  and  use  it  as  a  parachute. 
The  sight  of  the  army  of  France  gradually 
floating  down  into  the  valley  would  be  so  terrify- 
ing to  the  nations  of  Europe,  that  I  imagine  no 
enemy  would  wait  for  a  gun  to  be  fired.  De 
Plonville,  your  invention  will  immortalize  you, 
and  inmortalize  the  French  army." 

Young  De  Plonville  waited  to  hear  no  more, 
but  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away. 

This  conversation  caused  young  De  Plonville 
to  make  two  resolutions :  first,  to  mention  his 
scheme  to  no  one  ;  second,  to  persevere  and  per- 
fect his  invention,  thus  causing  confusion  to  the 
scoffer.  There  were  several  sub-resolutions  de- 
pendent on  these  two.  He  would  not  enter  a 
club,  he  would  abjure  society,  he  would  not 
speak  to  a  woman — he  would,  in  short,  be  a 
hermit  until  his  invention  stood  revealed  before 
an  astonished  world. 

All  of  which  goes  to  show  that  young  De 
Plonville  was  not  the  conceited,  meddlesome  fop 
his  acquaintances  thought  him.  But  in  the 
large  and  small  resolutions  he  did  not  deduct 
the  ten  per  cent,  for  the  unknown  quantity^ 

Where  ?  That  was  the  question.  De  Plon- 
ville walked  up  and  down  his  room,  and  thought 
it  out.    A  large  map  of   France  was  spread  on 


I 


Zbc  pccDicament  ot  S)e  plonvillc.   83 


hville 
n  his 
Iper- 
o  the 
s  de- 
er a 
not 
be  a 
fore 

De 
fop 
the 
luct 

llon- 

ight 

on 


I 


\ 


the  table.  Paris  and  the  environs  thereof  were 
manifestly  impossible.  He  needed  a  place  of 
seclusion.  He  needed  a  stretch  of  water. 
Where  then  should  be  the  spot  to  which  com- 
ing generations  would  point  and  say,  "  Here, 
at  this  place,  was  perfected  De  Plonville's  cele- 
brated parachute-tent-bateau  invention." 

No,  not  parachute.  Hang  the  parachute! 
That  was  the  scoffing  lieutenant's  word.  De 
Plonville  paused  for  a  moment  to  revile  his  folly 
in  making  a  confidant  of  any  army  man. 

There  was  a  sufficiency  of  water  around  the 
French  coast,  but  it  was  too  cold  at  that  season 
of  the  year  to  experiment  in  the  north  and  east. 
There  was  left  the  Mediterranean.  He  thought 
rapidly  of  the  different  delightful  spots  along  the 
Riviera — Cannes,  St.  Raphael,  Nice,  Monte 
Carlo, — but  all  of  these  were  too  public  and  too 
much  thronged  with  visitors.  The  name  of  the 
place  came  to  him  suddenly,  and,  as  he  stopped 
his  march  to  and  fro,  De  Plonville  wondered  why 
it  had  not  suggested  itself  to  him  at  the  very 
first.  Hy^res !  It  seemed  to  have  been  plan- 
ned in  the  Middle  Ages  for  the  perfecting  of 
just  such  an  invention.  It  was  situated  two  or 
three  miles  back  from  the  sea,  the  climate  was 
perfect,  there  was  no  marine  parade,  the  sea 
coast  was  lonely,  and  the  bay  sheltered  by  the 
islands.     It  was  an  ideal  spot. 

De  Plonville  easily  secured  leave  of  absence. 
Sons  of  fathers  high  up  in  the  service  of  a 
grateful  country  seldom  have  any  difficulty 
about  a  little  thing  like  that.  He  purchased  a 
ticket  for  that  leisurely  train  which  the  French 
with  their  delicious  sense  of  humor  call  the 
••  Rapide,"  and  in  due  time  found  himself  with 
his  various  belongings  standing  on  the  station 
platform  at  Hj'^res. 

Few  of  us  are  as  brave  as  we  think  ourselves. 
De  Plonville  flinched  when  the    supreme  mo- 


'  I  M 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


7 


<      %o 


^ 


Q- 


w.r 


:/ 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


fM  ilM 


U£   I 


32 


12.2 


I"  ^ L 

t  lA  IIIIIM 


1.4 


1.6 


Vi 


<^ 


/J 


1 


'/ 


f 


^  m. 


w.r 


m 


84 


Xlbe  jfacc  and  tbe  Abaafi. 


•  < 


\\>  I 


ment  came,  and  perhaps  that  is  why  the  Gods 
punished  him.  Ke  had  resolved  to  go  to  one 
of  the  country  inns  at  Carqueyranne  on  the 
coast,  but  this  was  in  a  heroic  mood  when  the 
lieutenant  had  laughed  at  his  project.  Now  in 
a  cooler  moment  he  thought  of  the  cuisine  of 
Carqueyranne  and  shuddered.  There  are  sac- 
rifices which  no  man  should  be  called  upon  to 
endure,  so  the  naval  officer  hesitated,  and  at  last 
directed  the  porter  to  put  his  luggage  on  the  top 
of  the  Costebelle  Hotel  "  bus."  There  would  be 
society  at  the  hotel  it  is  true,  but  he  could  avoid 
it,  while  if  he  went  to  the  rural  tavern  he  could 
not  avoid  the  cooking.  Thus  he  smothered 
his  conscience.  Lunch  at  Costebelle  seemed  to 
justify  his  choice  of  an  abiding-place.  The  sur- 
roundings of  the  hotel  were  dangerously  charm- 
ing to  a  man  whose  natural  inclination  was  to- 
wards indolent  enjoyment.  It  was  a  place  to 
*'  Loaf  and  invite  your  soul,"  as  Walt  Whitman 
phrases  it.  Plonville,  who  was  there  incognito, 
for  he  had  temporarily  dropped  the  "  De," 
strolled  towards  the  sea  in  the  afternoon,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  nothing  on  his  mind. 
No  one  to  see  him  would  have  suspected  he 
was  the  future  Edison  of  France.  When  he 
reached  the  coast  at  the  ruins  of  the  ancient 
Roman  naval  station  called  Pomponiana,  he 
smote  his  thigh  with  joy.  He  had  forgotten 
that  at  this  spot  there  had  been  erected  a  num- 
ber of  little  wooden  houses,  each  larger  than  a 
bathing-machine  and  smaller  than  a  cottage, 
which  were  used  in  summer  by  the  good  people 
of  Hyeres,  and  in  winter  were  silently  vacant. 
The  largest  of  these  would  be  exactly  the  place 
for  him,  and  he  knew  he  would  have  no  difficulty 
in  renting  it  for  a  month  or  two.  Here,  he 
could  bring  down  his  half-finished  invention  ; 
here,  work  at  it  all  day  unmolested  ;  and  here 
test  its  sailing  qualities  with  no  onlookers. 


V 

; 


XCbc  preMcament  ot  5)e  IMonrfUe.   85 

He  walked  up  the  road,  and  hailed  the 
ancient 'bus  which  jogs  along  between  Toulon 
and  Hy^res  by  way  of  the  coast ;  mounted  be- 
side the  driver,  and  speedily  got  information 
about  the  owner  of  the  cottages  at  Pomponi- 
ana. 

As  he  expected,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  ar- 
ranging with  the  proprietor  for  the  largest  of 
the  little  cottages,  but  he  thought  he  detected 
a  slight  depression  on  the  right  eyelid  as  that 
person  handed  him  the  key.  Had  the  owner 
suspected  his  purpose  ?  he  asked  himself  anx- 
iously, as  he  drove  back  from  the  town  to  Cos- 
tebelle.  Impossible.  He  felt,  however,  thathe 
could  not  be  too  secret  about  his  intentions. 
He  had  heard  of  inventors  being  forestalled 
just  at  the  very  moment  of  success. 

He  bade  the  driver  wait,  and  placed  that 
part  of  his  luggage  in  the  cab  which  consisted 
of  his  half-finished  invention  and  the  materials 
for  completing  it.  Then  he  drove  to  the  coast, 
and  after  placing  the  packages  on  the  ground, 
paid  and  dismissed  the  man.  When  the  cab 
was  out  of  sight,  he  carried  the  things  to  the 
cottage  and  locked  them  in.  His  walk  up  the 
hill  to  the  hotel  rendered  the  excellent  dinner 
provided  doubly  attractive. 

Next  morning  he  was  early  at  work,  and 
speedily  began  to  realize  how  many  necessary 
articles  he  had  forgotten  at  Paris.  He  hoped 
he  would  be  able  to  get  them  at  Hyeres,  but 
his  remembrance  of  the  limited  resources  of  the 
town  made  him  somewhat  doubtful.  The 
small  windows  on  each  side  gave  him  scarcely 
enough  light,  but  he  did  not  open  the  door, 
fearing  the  curiosity  of  a  chance  passer-by. 
One  cannot  be  too  careful  in  maturing  a  great 
invention. 

Plonville  had  been  at  work  for  possibly  an 
hour  and  a  half,  when  he  heard  someone  sing- 


f 


V 


^       :) 


1  'i 


1  -^  \ 


^m 


M 


ii 


I 


86 


XLbc  jface  and  tbe  lfbaef{. 


ing,  and  that  very  sweetly.  She  sang  with  the 
joyous  freedom  of  one  who  suspected  no  lis- 
tener. The  song  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
Plonville  standing  amazed,  dropped  his  imple- 
ments, and  stole  to  the  somewhat  obscure  little 
window.  He  saw  a  vision  of  fresh  loveliness 
dressed  in  a  costume  he  never  before  beheld  on 
a  vision.  She  came  down  the  bank  with  a  light, 
springy  step  to  the  next  cottage,  took  a  key 
that  hung  at  her  belt,  and  threw  open  the  door. 
The  song  was  hushed,  but  not  silenced,  for  a 
moment,  and  then  there  came  from  out  the  cot- 
tage door  the  half  of  a  boat  that  made  Plonville 
gasp.  Like  the  costume,  he  had  never  before 
seen  such  a  boat.  It  was  exactly  the  shape  in 
which  he  had  designed  his  invention,  and  was 
of  some  extra  light  material,  for  the  sylph-like 
girl  in  the  extraordinary  dress  pushed  it  forth 
without  even  ceasing  her  song.  Next  moment, 
she  came  out  herself  and  stood  there  while  she 
adjusted  her  red  head-gear.  She  drew  the 
boat  down  to  the  water,  picked  out  of  it  a  light, 
silver-mounted  paddle,  stepped  deftly  aboard, 
and  settled  down  to  her  place  with  the  airy 
grace  of  a  thistle-down.  There  was  no  seat  in 
the  boat,  Plonville  noted  with  astonishment. 
The  sea  was  very  smooth,  an^  few  strokes  of 
the  paddle  sent  girl  and  craft  out  of  sight  along 
the  coast.  Plonville  drew  a  deep  breath  of  be- 
wilderment. It  was  his  first  sight  of  a  Thames 
boating  costume  and  a  canoe. 

This,  then,  was  why  the  man  winked  when  he 
gave  him  the  key.  Plonville  was  in  a  quandary. 
Should  he  reveal  himself  when  she  returned.^ 
It  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  the  thing  to  allow 
the  girl  to  believe  she  had  the  coast  to  herself 
when  in  fact  she  hadn't.  But  then  there  was 
his  invention  to  think  of.  He  had  sworn  alle- 
giance to  that.  He  sat  down  and  pondered. 
English,  evidently.    He  had  no  idea  English 


uiiV 


L. 


i 


lish 


^be  pteOicament  ot  Be  plonviUe*  87 

girls  were  so  pretty,  and  then  that  costume ! 
It  was  very  taking.  The  rich,  creamy  folds  of 
the  white  flannel,  so  simple,  yet  so  complete, 
lingered  in  his  memory.  Still,  what  was  he 
there  for  ?  His  invention  certainly.  The  sneer 
of  the  lieutenant  stung  his  memory.  That 
Miss  Whatever-her-name-might-be  had  rented 
the  next  box  was  nothing  to  him  ;  of  course  not. 
He  waved  her  aside  and  turned  to  his  work. 
He  had  lost  enough  of  time  as  it  was ;  he  would 
lose  no  more. 

Although  armed  with  this  heroic  resolution, 
his  task  somehow  did  not  seem  so  interesting 
as  before,  and  he  found  himself  listening  now 
and  then  for  the  siren's  song.  He  dramatized 
imaginary  situations,  which  is  always  bad  for 
practical  work.  He  saw  the  frail  craft  shat- 
tered or  overturned,  and  beheld  himself  bravely 
buffeting  the  waves  rescuing  the  fair  girl  in 
white.  Then  he  remembered  with  a  sigh  that 
he  was  not  a  good  swimmer.  Possibly  she 
was  more  at  home  in  the  waves  than  he  was. 
Those  English  seemed  on  such  terms  of  com- 
radeship with  the  sea. 

At  last,  intuition  rather  than  hearing  told  him 
she  had  returned.  He  walked  on  tip-toe  to  the 
dingy  window.  She  was  pulling  the  light  canoe 
up  from  the  water.  He  checked  his  impulse  to 
offer  assistance.  When  the  girl  sprang  lightly 
up  the  bank,  Plonville  sighed  and  concluded  he 
had  done  enough  work  for  the  day.  As  he 
reached  the  road,  he  noticed  that  the  white 
figure  in  the  distance  did  not  take  the  way  to 
the  hotel,  but  towards  one  of  the  neighboring 
Chateaux. 

In  the  afternoon,  Plonville  worked  long  at  his 
invention,  and  made  progress.  He  walked 
back  to  his  hotel  with  the  feeling  of  self-satis- 
faction which  indolent  men  have  on  those  rare  oc- 
casions when  they  are  industrious.    He  had  been 


fit 


% 


p 


i 


H 


I     !| 


f.      ■! 


1^1 


ss 


vibe  jfacc  anO  tbe  Aasfi* 


uninterrupted,  and  his  resolutions  were  again  he- 
roic. What  had  been  done  one  afternoon  might 
be  done  all  afternoons.  He  would  think  no  more 
of  the  vision  he  had  seen  and  he  would  work  only 
after  lunch,  thus  avoiding  the  necessity  of  reveal- 
ing himself,  or  of  being  a  concealed  watcher  of 
her  actions.  Of  course  she  came  always  in  the 
morning,  for  the  English  are  a  methodical 
people,  and  Plonville  was  so  learned  in  their 
ways  that  he  knew  what  they  did  one  day  they 
were  sure  to  do  the  next.  An  extraordinary 
nation,  Plonville  said  to  himself  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  but  then  of  course,  we  cannot 
all  be  French. 

It  is  rather  a  pity  that  temptation  should  step 
in  just  when  a  man  has  made  up  his  mind  not 
to  deviate  from  a  certain  straight  line  of  con- 
duct. There  was  to  be  a  ball  that  night  at  the 
big  hotel.  Plonville  had  refused  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it.  He  had  renounced  the 
frivolities  of  life.  He  was  there  for  rest,  quiet, 
and  study.  He  was  adamant.  That  evening 
the  invitation  was  again  extended  to  him,  the 
truth  being  that  there  was  a  scarcity  of  young 
men,  as  is  usually  the  case  at  such  functions. 
Plonville  was  about  to  re-state  his  objections 
to  frivolity  when  through  the  open  door  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  two  of  the  arriving  guests 
ascending  the  stair.  The  girl  had  on  a  long 
opera  cloak  with  some  fluffy  white  material 
round  the  neck  and  down  the  front.  A  filmy 
lace  arrangement  rested  lightly  on  her  fair  hair. 
It  was  the  lady  of  the  canoe — glorified.  Plon- 
ville wavered  and  was  lost.  He  rushed  to  his 
room  and  donned  his  war  paint.  Say  what 
you  like,  evening  dress  improves  the  appearance 
of  a  man.  Besides  this,  he  had  resumed  the 
De  once  more,  and  his  back  was  naturally 
straighter.     De  Plonville  looked  well. 

They  were  speedily  introduced,  of  course.  De 


# 


Zbc  predicament  ot  2)e  plonville.   89 

Plonville  took  care  of  that,  and  the  manager  of 
the  ball  was  very  grateful  to  him  for  coming, 
and  for  looking  so  nice.  There  was  actually  an 
air  of  distinction  about  De  Plonville.  She  w^as; 
the  Hon.  Margaret  Stansby,  he  learned.  Be- 
sides being  unfair,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
give  their  conversation.  It  would  read  like  a 
section  from  Ollendorf's  French-English  exer- 
cises. De  Plonville,  as  has  been  said,  was 
very  proud  of  his  Englis  ,  and,  unfortunately^ 
the  Hon.  Margaret  had  a  sense  of  humor.  He 
complimented  her  by  saying  that  she  talked 
French  even  better  than  he  talked  English,, 
which,  while  doubtless  true,  was  not  the  most 
tactful  thing  De  Plonville  might  have  said* 
It  was  difficult  to  listen  to  such  a  statement 
given  in  his  English,  and  refrain  from  laughing^ 
Margaret,  however,  scored  a  great  victory  and' 
did  not  laugh.  The  evening  passed  pleasantly, 
she  thought ;  delightfully,  De  Plonville  thought. 

It  was  hard  after  this  to  come  down  to  the 
prosaic  work  of  completing  a  cloth  canoe-tent^ 
but,  to  De  Plonville's  credit,  he  persevered. 
He  met  the  young  lady  on  several  occasions,, 
but  never  by  the  coast.  The  better  they  became 
acquainted  the  more  he  wished  to  have  the 
privilege  of  rescuing  her  from  some  deadly 
danger ;  but  the  opportunity  did  not  come.  It 
seldom  does,  except  in  books,  as  he  bitterly 
remarked  to  himself.  The  sea  was  exaspera- 
tingly  calm,  and  Miss  Margaret  was  mistress 
of  her  craft,  as  so  many  charming  women  are. 
He  thought  of  buying  a  telescope  and  watch- 
ing her,  for  she  had  told  him  that  one  of  her 
own  delights  was  looking  at  the  evolutions  of 
the  ironclads  through  a  telescope  on  the  terrace 
in  front  of  the  Chateau. 

At  last,  in  spit*,  of  his  distractions,  De  Plon- 
ville added  the  finishing  touches  to  his  notable 
invention,  and  all  that  remained  was  to  put  it 


I 


I' 


if 

i 


90 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  Aaaft. 


to  a  practical  test.  He  chose  a  day  when  that 
portion  of  the  French  navy  which  frequents 
the  Rade  d'Hy^res  was  not  in  sight,  for  he  did 
not  wish  to  come  within  the  field  of  the  tele- 
scope at  the  Chateau  terrace.  He  felt  that  he 
would  not  look  his  best  as  he  paddled  his 
new-fangled  boat.  Besides,  it  might  sink  with 
him. 

There  was  not  a  sail  in  sight  as  he  put  forth. 
Even  the  fishing  boats  of  Carqueyranne  were 
in  shelter.  The  sea  was  very  calm,  and  the 
sun  shone  brightly.  He  had  some  little  diffi- 
culty in  getting  seated,  but  he  was  elated  to 
find  that  his  invention  answered  all  expecta- 
tions. As  he  went  further  out  he  noticed  a 
great  buoy  floating  a  long  distance  away.  His 
evil  genius  suggested  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  to  paddle  out  to  the  buoy  and  back.  Many 
men  can  drink  champagne  and  show  no  sign, 
but  few  can  drink  success  and  remain  sober. 
The  eccentric  airs  assumed  by  noted  authors 
prove  the  truth  of  this.  De  Plonville  was 
drunk,  and  never  suspected  it.  The  tide,  what 
little  there  is  of  it  in  the  Mediterranean,  helped 
him,  and  even  the  gentle  breeze  blew  from  the 
shore.  He  had  some  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  his  course  before  he  reached  the  gigantic 
red  buoy,  but  when  he  turned  around  and  saw 
the  appalling  distance  to  the  coast,  he  shud- 
dered. 

The  great  buoy  was  of  iron,  apparently  boiler 
plate,  and  there  were  rings  fastened  to  its  side. 
It  was  pear-shaped  with  the  point  in  the  water, 
fastened  to  a  chain  that  evidently  led  to  an 
anchor.  He  wondered  what  it  was  for.  As  he 
looked  up  it  was  moved  by  some  unseen  current, 
and  rolled  over  as  if  bent  on  the  destruction  of 
his  craft.  Forgetting  himself,  he  sprang  up  to 
ward  it  off,  and  instantly  one  foot  went  through 
the  thin  waterproof  that  formed  the  bottom  and 


s 

if 

1^4  n 


Zbc  pteDicament  ot  2)e  plonviUc.  91 


was 


sides  of  his  boat.  He  found  himself  struggling 
in  the  water  almost  before  he  realized  what  had 
happened.  Kicking  his  foot  free  from  the  en- 
tanglement that  threatened  to  drag  him  under, 
he  saw  his  invention  slowly  settle  down  through 
the  clear,  green  water.  He  grasped  one  of  the 
rings  of  the  buoy,  and  hung  there  for  a  moment 
to  catch  his  breath  and  consider  his  position. 
He  rapidly  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
not  a  pleasant  one,  but  further  than  that  he 
found  it  difficult  to  go.  Attempting  to  swim 
ashore  would  be  simply  one  form  of  suicide. 
The  thing  to  do  was  evidently  to  get  on  top  of 
the  buoy,  but  he  realized  that  if  he  tried  to  pull 
himself  up  by  the  rings  it  would  simply  roll  him 
under.  He  was  surprised  to  find,  however,  that 
such  was  not  the  case.  He  had  under-estimated 
both  its  size  and  its  weight. 

He  sat  down  on  top  of  it  and  breathed  heavily 
after  his  exertions,  gazing  for  a  few  moments  at 
the  vast  expanse  of  shimmering  blue  water.  It 
was  pretty,  but  discouraging.  Not  even  a 
fishing-boat  was  in  sight,  and  he  was  in  a  posi- 
tion where  every  prospect  pleases,  and  only  man 
is  in  a  vile  situation.  The  big  iron  island  had 
an  uncomfortable  habit  every  now  and  then  of 
lounging  partly  over  to  one  side  or  the  other,  so 
that  De  Plonville  had  to  scramble  this  way  or 
that  to  keep  from  falling  off.  He  vaguely  sur- 
mised that  his  motions  on  these  occasions  lacked 
dignity.  The  hot  sun  began  to  dry  the  clothes  on 
his  back,  and  he  felt  his  hair  become  crisp  with 
salt.  He  recollected  that  swimming  should  be 
easy  here,  for  he  was  on  the  saltest  portion  of  the 
saltest  open  sea  in  the  world.  Then  his  gaze  wan- 
dered over  the  flat  lands  about  Les  Salins  where 
acres  of  ground  were  covered  artificially  with  Med- 
iterranean water  so  that  the  sun  may  evaporate  it, 
and  leave  the  coarse  salt  used  by  the  fishermen 
of  the  coast.    He  did  not  yet  feel  hungry,  but 


!  i 


4'i     m 


il 


i 


■  t 


^*'^l 


w 


93 


^be  iface  anD  tbc  /basli. 


i 


'Willi 


r 


i  '1  .  > 


he  thought  with  regret  of  the  good  dinner  which 
would  be  spread  at  the  hotel  that  evening,  when, 
perhaps,  he  would  not  be  there. 

He  turned  himself  around  and  scanned  the 
distant  Islands  of  Gold,  but  there  was  as  little 
prospect  of  help  from  that  quarter  as  from  the 
mainland.  Becoming  more  accustomed  to  the 
swayings  of  the  big  globe,  he  stood  up.  What 
a  fool  he  had  been  to  come  so  far,  and  he  used 
French  words  between  his  teeth  that  sounded 
terse  and  emphatic.  Still  there  was  little  use 
thinking  of  that.  Here  he  was,  and  here  he 
would  stay,  as  a  President  of  his  country  had 
once  remarked.  The  irksomeness  and  restraint 
of  his  position  began  to  wear  on  his  nerves, 
and  he  cried  aloud  for  something — anything — 
to  happen  rather  than  what  he  was  enduring. 

Something  happened. 

From  between  the  Islands,  there  slowly 
appeared  a  great  modern  French  ship  of  war, 
small  in  the  distance.  Hope  lighted  up  the 
face  of  De  Plonville.  She  must  pass  near 
enough  to  enable  his  signalling  to  be  seen  by 
the  lookout.  Heavens !  how  leisurely  she 
moved !  Then  a  second  war  vessel  followed  the 
first  into  view,  and  finally  a  third.  The  three 
came  slowly  along  in  stately  procession.  De 
Plonville  removed  his  coat  and  waved  it  up  and 
down  to  attract  attention.  So  intent  was  he 
upon  this  that  he  nearly  lost  his  footing,  and, 
rea'-'zing  that  the  men-of-war  were  still  too  far 
away,  he  desisted.  He  sat  down  as  his  excite- 
ment abated,  and  watched  their  quiet  approach. 
Once  it  seemed  to  him  they  had  stopped,  and 
he  leaned  forward,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  watched  them  eagerly.  They  were 
just  moving — that  was  all. 

Suddenly,  from  the  black  side  of  the  fore- 
most battle-ship,  there  rolled  upward  a  cloud 
of  white  smoke,  obscuring  the  funnels  and  the 


XLbc  f^reDicament  ot  2)e  plonviUc.   93 


riggingf,  thinning  out  into  the  blue  sky  over  the 
top-masts.  After  what  seemed  a  long  interval 
the  low,  dull  roar  of  a  cannon  reached  him, 
followed  by  the  echo  from  the  high  hills  of  the 
island,  and  later  by  the  fainter  re-echo  from 
the  mountains  on  the  mainland.  This  de- 
pressed De  Plonville,  for,  if  the  ships  were  out 
for  practice,  the  obscuring  smoke  around 
them  would  make  the  seeing  of  his  sig- 
nalling very  improbable ;  and  then  that  pc- 
tion  of  the  fleet  might  return  the  way  it  came, 
leaving  him  in  his  predicament.  From  the 
second  ironclad  arose  a  similar  cloud,  and  this 
time  far  to  his  left  there  spurted  up  from  the 
sea  a  jet  of  water,  waving  in  the  air  like  a 
plume  for  a  moment,  then  dropping  back  in  a 
shower  on  the  ruffled  surface. 

The  buoy  was  a  target ! 

As  De  Plonville  realized  its  use,  he  felt  that 
uncomfortable  creeping  of  the  scalp  which  we 
call  the  hair  standing  on  end.  The  third  can- 
non sent  up  its  cloud,  and  De  Plonville's  eyes 
extended  at  what  they  saw.  Coming  directly 
towards  him  was  a  cannon  ball,  skipping  over 
the  water  like  a  thrown  pebble.  His  experi- 
ence in  the  navy — at  Paris — had  never  taught 
him  that  such  a  thing  was  possible.  He  slid 
down  flat  on  the  buoy,  till  his  chin  rested  on 
the  iron,  and  awaited  the  shock.  A  hundred 
yards  from  him  the  ball  dipped  into  the  water 
and  disappeared.  He  found  that  he  had  in- 
effectually tried  to  drive  his  nails  into  the 
boiler  plate,  until  his  fingers'  ends  were  sore. 
He  stood  up  and  waved  his  arms,  but  the  first 
vessel  fired  again,  and  the  ball  came  shrieking 
over  him  so  low  that  he  intuitively  ducked  his 
head.  Like  a  pang  of  physical  pain,  the  thought 
darted  through  his  brain  that  he  had  instigated 
a  censure  on  the  bad  firing  of  these  very  boats. 
Doubtless  they  saw  a  man  on  the  buoy,  but  as 


^u\^. 


'I 


It 

!1 


t'  4     f  ? 


94 


Ebe  jface  anD  tbe  /RbasFt. 


Mi 


i; 


no  man  had  any  business  there,  the  knocking 
of  him  off  by  a  cannon  ball  would  be  good 
proof  of  accuracy  of  aim.  The  investigation 
which  followed  would  be  a  feather  in  the  cap 
of  the  officer  in  charge,  whatever  the  verdict. 
De  Plonville,  with  something  like  a  sigh,  more 
than  suspected  that  his  untimely  death  would 
not  cast  irretrievable  gloom  over  the  fleet. 

Well,  a  man  has  to  die  but  once,  and  there  is 
little  use  in  making  a  fuss  over  the  inevitable. 
He  would  meet  his  fate  calmly  and  as  a  French- 
man should,  with  his  face  to  the  guns.  There 
was  a  tinge  of  regret  that  there  would  be 
no  one  to  witness  his  heroism.  It  is  always 
pleasant  on  such  occasions  to  have  a  war  cor- 
respond U,  or  at  least  a  reporter,  present.  It 
is  best  t*.  be  as  comfortable  as  possible  under 
any  circumstances,  so  De  Plonville  sat  down  on 
the  spheroid  and  let  his  feet  dangle  toward  the 
water.  The  ^reat  buoy  for  some  reason  floated 
around  until  it  presented  its  side  to  the  ships. 
None  of  the  balls  came  so  near  as  those  first 
fired — perhaps  because  of  the  accumulated 
smoke.  New  features  of  the  situation  contin- 
ued to  present  themselves  to  De  Plonville  as  he 
sat  there.  The  firing  had  been  going  on  for 
some  time  before  he  reflected  that  if  a  shot 
punctured  the  buoy  it  would  fill  and  sink. 
Perhaps  their  orders  were  to  fire  until  the  buoy 
disappeared.  There  was  little  comfort  in  this 
suggestion. 

Firing  had  ceased  for  some  minutes  before 
he  noticed  the  fact.  A  bank  of  thinning  smoke 
rested  on  the  water  between  the  buoy  and  the 
ships.  He  saw  the  ironclads  move  ponderously 
around  and  steam  through  this  bank  turning 
broadside  on  again  in  one,  two,  three,  order. 
He  watched  the  evolution  with  his  chin  resting 
on  his  hands,  not  realizing  that  the  moment  for 
signalling  had  come.     When  the  idea  penetra- 


I 


r  m 


ler. 

(for 
Ira- 


(Tbe  preDicament  of  2)e  iPlonviUe.   95 

ted  his  somewhat  dazed  mind,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet,  but  his  opportunity  had  gone.  The  smoke 
of  the  first  gun  rose  in  the  air,  there  was  a 
clang  of  iron  on  iron,  and  De  Plonville  found 
himself  whirling  in  space :  then  sinking  in  the 
sea.  Coming  breathless  to  the  surface,  he  saw 
the  buoy  revolving  slowly,  and  a  deep  dinge  in 
its  side  seemed  to  slide  over  its  top  and  disap- 
pear into  the  water,  showing  where  the  shot  had 
struck.  The  second  boat  did  not  fire,  and  he 
knew  that  they  were  examining  the  buoy  with 
their  glasses.  He  swam  around  to  the  other 
side,  intending  to  catch  a  ring  and  have  it  haul 
him  up  where  he  could  be  seen.  Before  he 
reached  the  place  the  buoy  was  at  rest  again, 
and  as  he  laboriously  climbed  on  top  more 
dead  than  alive,  the  second  ship  opened  fire. 
He  lay  down  at  full  length  exhausted,  and 
hoped  if  they  were  going  to  hit  they  would  hit 
quick.  Life  was  not  worth  having  on  these 
conditions.  He  felt  the  hot  sun  on  his  back, 
and  listened  dreamily  to  the  cannon.  Hope 
was  gone,  and  he  wondered  at  himself  for  feel- 
ing a  remote  rather  than  an  active  interest  in 
his  fate.  He  thought  of  himself  as  somebody 
else,  and  felt  a  vague  impersonal  pity.  He 
criticised  the  random  firing,  and  suspected  the 
hit  was  merely  a  fluke.  When  his  back  was 
dry  he  rolled  lazily  over  and  lay  gazing  up  at 
the  cloudless  sky.  For  greater  comfort  he 
placed  his  hands  'jeneath  his  head.  The  sky 
faded,  and  a  moment's  unconsciousness  inter- 
vened. 

"  This  won't  do,"  he  cried,  shaking  himself.^ 
"  If  I  fall  asleep  I  shall  roll  off." 

He  sat  up  again,  his  joints  stiff  with  his  im- 
mersion, and  watched  the  distant  ironclads. 
He  saw  with  languid  interest  a  ball  strike  the 
water,  take  a  new  flight,  and  plunge  into  the 
sea  far  to  the  right.     He  thought  that  the  vaga- 


\f   l\ 


n 


V   ;, 


f  : 


■96 


^be  face  ano  tbe  Aasft. 


-ttinJSr""'"^  "'  ^-^^  "°""'  --''e  an  inter- 
^._^  Are  you  injured?"  cried  a  clear  voice  behind 

.X!^'-"I^«ryoSVi,---^nee^ 

wliisper;  thenadle7"andn  ■'"'"'  ?  ^"  ^wed 

Mademoiselle  '•/.  1^  j  "°  wonder.  " 

man,  placing  liis  hand'^on  h-  "l*  ""<=''«"  younc 

Jess  to  denyll  do  nm  d    ""^  \^^«'  "  ■'  's  need? 

«ned-butll  iid  „"°'  l^Pyr"^^'  J  was  frX 

tliat.     I  reeret      If  f    """k-not  so  much   a, 

^eep^y  soS„,_i'  '^  ^°-^o-theatrica/-I  am 

C?n  yoTcome  down  ?''%,''"'  ^°"'^  quickly, 
middle  of  the  canoe  L  '^^ /,^actly\  the 
upset-and  sit  down  ^,  ireful-it  "is  easily 
nicely  done."  ""  ^'  °'"'^-    That  was  ver^ 

^;  Mademoiselle,  allow  me  at  least  to  row  the 
I  da '  'Kte'^k  t  tT  "'"'-^'-^  «• 
"Hs-^sh.^'''^'^''«^e." 

<Jli^ra  w^y^'^Rellndf  '"^  <^°"We-bladed  pad- 
Once  she  mtered  a  ikdff '"'«^'''  ^^'^  «Wed. 
cannon  ballplun«d  nti  ,hf  """'"l  '^"^^  as  a 
but  as  they  pot  fMr,hl  ^  ^^'«''  behind  them  • 
'hose  on  thef^n-cteds  L^,?^  f™™  'he  buoy 
boat  was  within  ranRe  and  ^A'"  """'^^  '^atl 
Miss  Stansby   l^k'J  t  I, ''""S  ^^^^^d. 

young  man  sittfng  before  her  V   "'.^  ^"'^^n 
paddle  across    the  c-  ,p     h  '^^  placed  her 

-'■'"^     bent   over  it,   and 


r'  ".. 


awed 


pad- 
livied. 
as  a 
lem ; 
)Uoy 
lata 

her 
land 


L 


iT 


u 

U 

O 
> 

u 
u 


c 

M 
'J 


>t 


IMN'I 


«ia 


w^\ 


V    '-f 


i 


Zbc  predicament  ot  2)e  plonpiUe.   97 

laughed.  De  Plonville  saw  the  reaction  had 
come.     He  said  sympathetically : — 

"  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  do  not,  I  beg.  All  dan- 
ger is  over,  I  think." 

"  I  am  not  frightened,  don't  think  it,"  she 
cried,  flashing  a  look  of  defiance  at  him,  and 
forgetting  her  admission  of  fear  a  moment  be- 
fore. •'  My  father  was  an  Admiral.  I  am 
laughing  at  my  mistake.     It  is  salt." 

"  What  is  ?  "  asked  her  astonished  passenger. 

"  In  your  hair." 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  the 
salt  rattled  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  canoe. 
There  was  something  of  relief  in  /it's  laugh. 

De  Plonville  always  believes  the  officers  on 
board  the  gunboats  recognized  him.  When  it 
was  known  m  Paris  that  he  was  to  be  married 
to  the  daughter  of  an  English  Admiral,  whom 
rumor  said  he  had  bravely  saved  from  immi- 
nent peril,  the  army  lieutenant  remarked  that 
she  could  never  have  heard  him  speak  her 
language — which,  as  we  know,  is  not  true. 


.    1 


M^\ 


^S'W 


^'.1^ 


lll^ 

ill 

f-'^n 


A  NEW  EXPLOSIVE. 

The  French  Minister  of  War  sat  in  his  very 
comfortable  chair  in  his  own  private  yet  official 
room,  and  pondered  over  a  letter  he  had  re- 
ceived. Being  Minister  of  War,  he  was  natur- 
ally the  most  mild,  the  most  humane,  and  least 
quarrelsome  man  in  the  Cabinet.  A  Minister 
of  War  receives  many  letters  that,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  he  throws  into  his  waste  basket,  but 
this  particular  communication  had  somehow 
managed  to  rivet  his  attention.  When  a  man 
becomes  Minister  of  War  he  learns  for  the  first 
time  that  apparently  the  great  majority  of  man- 
kind are  engaged  in  the  manufacture  or  inven- 
tion of  rifles,  gunpowders,  and  devices  of  all 
kinds  for  the  destruction  of  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

That  morning,  the  Minister  of  War  had  re- 
ceived a  letter  which  announced  to  him  that  the 
writer  of  it  had  invented  an  explosive  so  terrible 
that  all  known  destructive  agencies  paled  before 
it.  As  a  Frenchman,  he  made  the  first  offer  of 
his  discovery  to  the  French  Government.  It 
would  cost  the  Minister  nothing,  he  said,  to 
make  a  test  which  would  corroborate  his  amaz- 
ing claims  for  the  substance,  and  the  moment 
that  test  was  made,  any  intelligent  man  would 
recognize  the  fact  that  the  country  which  pos- 
sessed the  secret  of  this  c  structive  compound 
would  at  once  occupy  an  unassailable  position 
in  a  contentious  world. 

The  writer  offered    personally    to    convince 


3 


B  'Wew  iBxvlosivc* 


99 


Ice 


the  Minister  of  the  truth  of  his  assertions,  pro- 
vided they  could  go  to  some  remote  spot  where 
the  results  of  the  explosion  would  do  no  dam- 
age, and  where  they  would  be  safe  from  espion- 
age. The  writer  went  on  very  frankly  to  say 
that  if  the  Minister  consulted  with  the  agents  of 
the  police,  they  would  at  once  see  in  this  invita- 
tion a  trap  for  the  probable  assassination  of  the 
Minister.  But  the  inventor  claimed  that  the 
Minister's  own  good  sense  should  show  him 
that  his  death  was  desired  by  none.  He  was 
but  newly  appointed,  and  had  not  yet  had  time 
to  make  enemies.  France  was  at  peace  with 
all  the  world,  and  this  happened  before  the 
time  of  the  Anarchist  demonstrations  in  Paris. 
It  was  but  right,  the  letter  went  on,  that  the 
Minister  should  have  some  guarantee  as  to  the 
bona  fides  of  the  inventor.  He  therefore  ^ave 
his  name  and  address,  and  said  if  the  Minister 
made  inquiries  from  the  police,  he  would  find 
nothing  stood  in  their  books  against  him.  He 
was  a  student,  whose  attention,  for  years,  had 
been  given  to  the  subject  of  explosives.  To  fur- 
ther show  that  he  was  entirely  unselfish  in  this 
matter,  he  added  that  he  had  no  desire  to  en- 
rich himself  by  his  discovery.  He  had  a  pri- 
vate income  quite  sufficient  for  his  needs,  and 
he  intended  to  give,  and  not  to  sell,  his  secret  to 
France.  The  only  proviso  he  made  was  that 
his  name  should  be  linked  with  this  terrible  com- 
pound, which  he  maintained  would  secure  uni- 
versal peace  to  the  world,  for,  after  its  qualities 
were  known,  no  nation  would  dare  to  fight  with 
another.  The  sole  ambition  of  the  inventor, 
said  the  letter  in  conclusion,  was  to  place  his 
name  high  in  the  list  of  celebrated  French  scien- 
tists. If,  however,  the  Minister  refused  to  treat 
with  him  he  would  go  to  other  Governments  un- 
til his  invention  was  taken  up,  but  the  Govern- 
ment which  secured  it   would  at  once  occupy 


M 


'  1 


,     ) 


r 


'     -I'-l 


If    '  ■?■ 


% 


1:1' 


100 


Z\ic  jface  anD  tbc  ^a^fi. 


the  leading  position  among  nations.  He  en- 
treated the  Minister,  tiierefore,  for  the  sake  of 
his  country,  to  make  at  least  one  test  of  the 
compound. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  before  the  time  of 
the  Paris  explosions,  and  ministers  were  not 
so  suspicious  then  as  they  are  now.  The 
Minister  made  inquiries  regarding  the  scientist, 
who  lived  in  a  little  suburb  of  Paris,  and  found 
that  there  was  nothing  against  him  on  the  books 
of  the  police.  Inquiry  showed  that  all  he  had 
said  about  his  own  private  fortune  was  true. 
The  Minister  therefore  wrote  to  the  inventor, 
and  named  an  hour  at  which  he  would  receive 
him  in  his  private  office. 

The  hour  and  the  man  arrived  together. 
The  Minister  had  had  some  slight  doubts 
regarding  his  sanity,  but  the  letter  had  been  so 
straightforwardly  written,  and  the  appearance  of 
the  man  himself  was  so  kindly  and  benevolent 
and  intelligent  that  the  doubts  of  the  official 
vanished. 

"  I  beg  you  to  be  seated,"  said  the  Minister. 
"  We  are  entirely  alone,  and  nothing  you  say 
will  be  heard  by  any  one  but  myself." 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Ministre,"  re- 
plied the  inventor,  "  for  this  mark  of  confidence  ; 
for  I  am  afraid  the  claims  I  made  in  the  letter 
were  so  extraordinary  that  you  might  well  have 
hesitated  about  granting  me  an  interview." 

The  Minister  smiled.  "  I  understand,"  he 
said,  "  the  enthusiasm  of  an  inventor  for  his 
latest  triumph,  and  I  was  enabled  thus  to  take, 
as  it  were,  some  discount  from  your  statements, 
although  I  (  ubt  not  that  you  have  discovered 
something  that  may  be  of  benefit  to  the  War 
Department." 

The  inventor  hesitated,  looking  seriously  at 
the  great  official  before  him. 

"  From  what  you  say,"  he  began  at  last,  "  I 


'  \^ 


B  'ttew  iBxpioeivc, 


lOI 


at 
"I 


am  rather  afraid  that  my  letter  misled  you,  for, 
fearing  it  would  not  be  credited  I  was  oblii^ed 
to  make  my  claims  so  mild  that  I  erred  in  under- 
estimating rather  than  in  over-stating  them.  I 
have  the  explosive  here  in  my  pocket." 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  the  Minister,  a  shade  of  pallor 
coming  over  his  countenance,  as  he  pushed 
back  his  chair.  "  I  thought  I  stated  in  my  note 
that  you  were  not  to  bring  it." 

"  Forgive  me  for  not  obeying.  It  is  perfectly 
harmless  while  in  this  state.  This  is  one  of  the 
peculiarities — a  beneficent  peculiarity  if  I  may 
so  term  it — of  this  terrible  agent.  It  may  be 
handled  with  perfect  safety,  and  yet  its  eftects 
are  as  inevitable  as  death,"  saying  which,  he 
took  out  of  his  pocket  and  held  up  to  the  light 
a  bottle  filled  with  a  clear  colorless  liquid  like 
water. 

"  You  could  pour  that  on  the  fire,"  he  said, 
"  with  no  other  effect  than  to  put  out  the  blaze. 
You  might  place  it  under  a  steam  hammer  and 
crush  the  bottle  to  powder,  yet  no  explosion 
would  follow.  It  is  as  harmless  as  water  in  its 
present  condition." 

"How,  then,"  said  the  Minister,  "do  you 
deal  with  it  ?  " 

Again  the  man  hesitated. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  you,"  he  said ; 
"  and  if  I  could  not  demonstrate  to  your  entire 
satisfaction  that  what  I  say  is  true,  it  would  be 
folly  for  me  to  say  what  I  am  about  to  say. 
If  I  were  to  take  this  bottle  and  cut  a  notch  in 
the  cork,  and  walk  with  it  neck  downwards 
along  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  allowing  this 
fluid  to  fall  drop  by  drop  on  the  pavement,  I 
could  walk  in  that  way  in  safety  through  every 
street  in  Paris.  If  it  rained  that  day  nothing 
would  happen.  If  it  rained  the  next  or  lor  a 
week  nothing  would  happen,  but  the  moment 
the  sun  came  out  and  dried  the  moisture,  the 


A\ 


i 


,f 


^jlt 


11 

4 


li 


I  h     t 


!•  ^^    (  \ 


,r 

*  •» 

'i^ 

^* 

f 

•|| 

"  ■'! 

i    • 

102 


^be  #ace  and  tbe  Aadli* 


light  step  of  a  cat  on  any  pavement  over  which 
I  had  passed  would  instantly  shatter  to  ruins  the 
whole  of  Paris." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  the  Minister,  an  expres- 
sion of  horror  coming  into  his  face. 

**  I  knew  you  would  say  that.  Therefore  I 
ask  you  to  come  with  me  to  the  country,  where 
I  can  prove  the  truth  of  what  I  allege.  While  I 
carry  this  bottle  around  with  me  in  this  appar- 
ently careless  fashion,  it  is  corked,  as  you  see 
with  the  utmost  security.  Not  a  drop  of  the 
fluid  must  be  left  on  the  outside  of  the  cork  or  of 
the  bottle.  I  have  wiped  the  bottle  and  cork 
most  thoroughly,  and  burned  the  cloth  which  I 
used  in  doing  so.  Fire  will  not  cause  this  com- 
pound, even  when  dry,  to  explode,  but  the  slight- 
est touch  will  set  it  off.  I  have  to  be  extremely 
careful  in  its  manufacture,  so  that  not  a  single 
drop  is  left  unaccounted  for  in  any  place  where 
it  might  evaporate." 

The  Minister,  with  his  finger-tips  together 
and  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  mused  for  a  few 
moments  on  the  amazing  statement  he  had 
heard. 

"  If  what  you  say  is  true,"  he  began  at  last, 
"  don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  humane  to 
destroy  all  traces  of  the  experiments  by  which 
you  discovered  this  substance,  and  to  divulge 
the  secret  to  no  one  ?  The  devastation  such  a 
thing  would  cause,  if  it  fell  into  unscrupulous 
hands,  is  too  appalling  even  to  contemplate." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  said  the  inventor; 
"  but  some  one  else — the  time  may  be  far  off  or 
it  may  be  near — is  bound  to  make  the  discovery. 
My  whole  ambition,  as  I  told  you  in  my  letter, 
is  to  have  my  name  coupled  with  this  discovery. 
I  wish  it  to  be  known  as  the  Lambelle  Explo- 
sive. The  secret  would  be  safe  with  the  French 
Government." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  Min- 


V 


B  View  iBxpioeivc, 


103 


ister.  "  Some  unscrupulous  man  may  become 
Minister  of  War,  and  may  use  his  knowledge  to 
put  himself  in  the  position  of  Dictator.  An  un- 
scrupulous man  in  the  possession  of  such  a 
secret  would  be  invincible." 

"  What  you  say,"  replied  the  inventor,  "  is  un- 
doubtedly true ;  yet  1  am  determined  that  the 
name  of  Lambelle  shall  go  down  in  history 
coupled  with  the  most  destructive  agent  the 
world  has  ever  known,  or  will  know.  If  the 
Government  of  France  will  build  for  me  a  large 
stone  structure  as  secure  as  a  fortress,  I  will 
keep  my  secret,  but  will  fill  that  building  with 
bottles  like  this,  and  then " 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  the  Minister,  "  that  that 
would  lessen  the  danger,  if  the  unscrupulous 
man  I  speak  of  once  became  possessed  of  the 
keys  ;  and,  besides,  the  mere  fact  that  such  a 
secret  existed  would  put  other  inventors  upon 
the  track,  and  some  one  else  less  benevolent 
than  yourself  would  undoubtedly  make  the  dis- 
covery. You  admitted  a  moment  ago  that  the 
chances  were  a  future  investigator  would  suc- 
ceed in  getting  the  right  ingredients  together, 
even  without  the  knowledge  that  such  an  ex- 
plosive existed.  See  what  an  incentive  it  would 
be  to  inventors  all  over  the  world,  if  it  were 
known  that  France  had  in  its  possession  such  a 
fearful  explosive !  No  Government  has  ever 
yet  been  successful  in  keeping  the  secret  of 
either  a  gun  or  a  gunpowder." 

"  There  is,  of  course,"  said  Lambelle,  "  much 
in  what  you  say;  but,  equally  of  course,  all  that 
you  say  might  have  been  said  to  the  inventor  of 
gunpowder,  for  gunpowder  in  its  day  was  as 
wonderful  as  this  is  now." 

Suddenly  the  Minister  laughed  aloud. 

"  I  am  talking  seriously  with  you  on  this  sub- 
ject," he  exclaimed,  "  as  if  I  really  believed  in  it. 
Of  course,  I  may  say  I  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 


i  ' 


J- 


:  'i 

1 

I-    t 

i 

^  :¥ 

1 

1. ' 

!  ■  :f' 

V      ' 

' 

1* 

1 

1 

1' 

r1  -I 


lf 


/<    • 


i  : 


104 


;rbc  iface  anD  tbc  ^aeU. 


I  think  you  must  have  hypnotized  me  with 
those  calm  eyes  of  yours  into  crediting  your 
statements  for  even  a  few  moments." 

"  All  that  I  say,"  said  the  inventor  quietly, 
"can  be  corroborated  to-morrow.  Make  an 
appointment  with  me  in  the  country,  and  if  it 
chances  to  be  a  calm  and  sunny  day  you  will  no 
longer  doubt  the  evidence  of  your  own  eyes." 

"  Where  do  you  wish  the  experiment  to  be 
made  ?  "  asked  the  Minister. 

"  It  must  be  in  some  wild  and  desolate  region, 
on  a  hill-top  for  preference.  There  should  be 
either  trees  or  old  buildings  there  that  we  can 
destroy,  otherwise  the  full  effects  can  hardly  be 
estimated." 

"  I  have  a  place  in  the  country,"  said  the 
Minister,  "  which  is  wild  and  desolate  and  un- 
protitable  enough.  There  are  some  useless 
stone  buildings,  not  on  a  hill-top,  but  by  the 
edge  of  a  quarry  which  has  been  unworked  for 
many  years.  There  is  no  habitation  for  several 
miles  around.     Would  such  a  spot  be  suitable  }  " 

'*  Perfectly  so.  When  would  it  be  convenient 
for  you  to  go?" 

"  I  will  leave  with  you  to-night,"  said  the  Min- 
ister, "  and  we  can  spend  the  day  to-morrow 
experimenting." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Lambelle,  rising 
when  the  Minister  had  told  him  the  hour  and 
the  railway  station  at  which  they  should  meet. 

That  evening,  when  the  Minister  drove  to  the 
railway  station  in  time  for  his  train,  he  found 
Lambelle  waiting  for  him,  holding,  by  a  leash, 
two  sorry-looking  dogs. 

"  Do  you  travel  with  such  animals  as  these  7" 
asked  the  Minister. 

"  The  poor  brutes,"  said  Lambelle,  with  re- 
gret in  his  voice,  "  are  necessary  for  our  experi- 
ments. They  will  be  in  atoms  by  this  time  to- 
morrow." 


a  IRew  J6iplo0ire. 


105 


id 
;t. 
le 
id 


li- 


The  dogs  were  put  into  the  railway-van,  and 
the  inventor  brought  his  portmanteau  with  him 
into  the  private  carriage  reserved  for  the  use  of 
the  Minister. 

The  place,  as  the  Minister  of  War  had  said, 
was  desolate  enough.  The  stone  buildings 
near  the  edge  of  the  deserted  quarry  were  stout 
and  strong,  although  partly  in  ruins. 

"  I  have  here  with  me  in  my  portmanteau,** 
said  Lambelle,  "  some  hundreds  of  metres  of 
electric  wire.  I  will  attach  one  of  the  dogs  by 
this  clip,  which  we  can  release  from  a  distance  by 
pressing  an  electric  button.  The  moment  the 
dog  escapes  he  will  undoubtedly  explode  the 
compound." 

The  insulated  wire  was  run  along  the  ground 
to  a  distant  elevation.  The  dog  was  attached  by 
the  electric  clip,  and  chained  to  a  doorpost  of 
one  of  the  buildings.  Lambelle  then  carefully 
uncorked  his  bottle,  holding  it  at  arm's  length 
from  his  person.  The  Minister  looked  on  with 
strange  interest  as  Lambelle  allowed  the  fluid 
to  drip  in  a  semicircular  line  around  the  chained 
dog.  The  inventor  carefully  re-corked  the 
bottle,  wiped  it  thoroughly  with  a  cloth  he  had 
with  him,  and  threw  the  cloth  into  one  of  the 
deserted  houses. 

They  waited  near,  until  the  spots  caused  by 
the  fluid  on  the  stone  pavement  in  front  of  the 
house  had  disappeared. 

"  By  the  time  we  reach  the  hill,"  said  Lam- 
belle, "  it  will  be   quite  dry  in  this  hot  sun." 

As  they  departed  towards  the  elevation,  the 
forlorn  dog  howled  mournfully,  as  if  in  pre- 
monition  of  '^is  fate. 

"  I  think,  tc  make  sure,"  said  the  inventor, 
when  they  reached  the  electrical  apparatus, 
"  that  we  might  wait  for  half  an  hour." 

The  Minister  lit  a  cigarette,  and  smoked  si- 
lently, a  strange   battle  going  on  in  bis  mind 


!     . 


f; 


k    I 


p 


U' 


i' 


'1, 1 

!                      1 

io6 


^be  Iface  an&  tbe  /Ibasfi. 


He  found  himself  b  "ing  in  the  extraordinary 
claims  made  by  the  mventor,  and  his  thought 
dwelt  oi»  the  awful  possibilities  of  such  an  ex- 
plosive. 

"Will  you  press  the  electric  lever?"  asked 
Lambelle  quietly.  "  Remember  that  you  are 
inaugurating^  a  new  era." 

The  Minister  pressed  down  the  key,  and  then, 
putting  his  field-glass  to  his  eye,  he  saw  that 
the  dog  was  released,  but  the  animal  sat  there 
scratching  its  ear  with  its  paw.  Then,  realizing 
that  it  was  loose,  it  sniffed  for  a  moment  at  the 
chain.  Finally,  it  threw  up  its  head  and  barked, 
although  the  distance  was  too  great  for  them 
to  hear  any  sound.  The  dog  started  in  the  di- 
rection the  two  men  had  gone,  but,  before  it 
had  taken  three  steps,  the  Minister  was  appal- 
led to  see  the  buildings  suddenly  crumble  into 
dust,  and  a  few  moments  later  the  thunder  of 
the  rocks  failing  into  the  deserted  quarry  came 
toward  them.  The  whole  ledge  had  been  flung 
forwards  into  the  chasm.  There  was  no  smoke, 
but  a  haze  of  dust  hovered  over  the  spot. 

"  My  God  ! "  cried  the  Minister.  "  That  is 
awful ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Lambelle  quietly;  "  I  put  more 

of  the  substance  on  the  flagging  than  I  need  to 

have  done.     A  few  drops  would  have  answered 

f  quite  as  well,  but  I  wanted  to  make  sure.     You 

were  very  sceptical,  you  know." 

The  Minister  looked  at  him.  "  I  beg  of  you, 
M.  Lambelle,  never  to  divulge  this  secret  to  the 
Government  of  France,  or  to  any  other  power. 
Take  the  risk  of  it  being  discovered  in  the 
future.  I  implore  you  to  reconsider  your  origi- 
nal intention.  If  you  desire  money,  I  will  see 
that  you  get  what  yoti,  want  from  the  secret 
funds." 

Lambelle  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  have  no  desire  for  money,"  he  said  ;  "  but 


\ 


I 


di- 


is 


I 


^ 


B  ticxc  Bxploefve. 


107 


what  you  have  seen  will  show  you  that  I  shall 
be  the  most  famous  scientist  of  the  century. 
The  name  of  Lambelle  will  be  known  till  the 
end  of  the  world." 

"  But,  my  God,  man  ?  **  said  the  Minister, 
"  the  end  of  the  world  is  here  the  moment  your 
secret  is  in  the  possession  of  another.  With 
you  or  me  it  would  be  safe  :  but  who  can  tell 
the  minds  of  those  who  may  follow  us  ?  You 
are  putting  the  power  of  the  Almighty  into  the 
hands  of  a  man." 

Lambelle  flushed  with  pride  as  the  pale-faced 
Minister  said  this. 

"  You  speak  the  truth  !  "  he  cried.  "  it  is 
the  power  of  Omnipotence." 

"  Then,"  implored  the  Minister,  "  reconsider 
your  decision." 

"  I  have  labored  too  long,"  said  Lambelle, 
*•  to  forego  my  triumph  now.  You  are  con- 
vinced at  last,  I  see.  Now  then,  lell  me  ;  will 
you,  as  Minister  of  France,  secure  for  your 
country  this  greatest  of  all  inventions  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Minister ;  "  no  other 
power  must  be  allowed  to  obtain  the  secret. 
Have  you  ever  written  down  the  names  of  the 
ingredients  ?  " 

"  Never,"  answered  Lambelle. 

"  Is  it  not  possible  for  any  one  to  have  sus- 
pected what  your  experiments  were  ?  If  a  man 
got  into  your  labcatory — a  scientific  man — 
could  he  not,  from  what  he  saw  there,  obtain 
the  secret  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  impossible,"  said  Lambelle.  "  I 
have  been  too  anxious  to  keep  the  credit  for 
myself,  to  leave  any  traces  that  might  give  a 
hint  of  what  I  was  doing." 

"  You  were  wise  in  that,"  said  the  Minister, 
drawing  a  d^'^p  breath.  "  Now  let  us  go  and 
look  at  the  .  uins." 

As  they  neared  the  spot  the  official's  aston- 


» ..^     , 

■      5       ■ 

io8 


Xlbc  jface  anD  tbe  A^aef;. 


ishment  at  the  extraordinary  destruction  became 
greater  and  greater.  The  rock  had  been  rent 
as  if  by  an  earthquake,  to  the  distance  of  hun- 
dreds of  yards. 

"  You  say,"  said  the  Minister,  •'  that  the  liq- 
uid is  perfectly  safe  until  evaporation  takes 
place." 

"  Perfectly,"  answered  Lambelle.  "  Of  course 
one  has  to  be  careful,  as  I  told  you,  in  the  use 
of  it.  You  must  not  get  a  drop  on  your  clothes, 
or  leave  it  anywhere  on  the  outside  of  the  bottle 
to  evaporate." 

"  Let  me  see  the  stuff." 

Lambelle  handed  him  the  bottle. 

"  Have  you  any  more  of  this  in  your  labora- 
tory .?  " 

"  Not  a  drop." 

"  If  you  wished  to  destroy  this,  how  would 
you  do  It  ?  " 

"  I  should  empty  the  bottle  into  the  Seim  . 
It  would  flow  down  to  the  sea,  and  no  harm 
would  be  done." 

"  See  if  you  can  find  any  traces  of  the  dog," 
said  the  Minister.  "  I  will  clamber  down  into 
the  quarry,  and  look  there." 

"  You  will  find  nothing,"  said  Lambelle  con- 
fidently. 

There  was  but  one  path  by  which  the  bottom 
of  the  quarry  could  be  reached.  The  Minister 
descended  by  •ihis  until  he  was  out  of  sight  of 
the  man  above ;  then  he  quickly  uncorked  the 
bottle,  and  allowed  the  fluid  to  drip  along  the 
narrowest  part  of  the  path  which  faced  the 
burning  sun.  He  corked  the  bottle,  wiped  it 
carefully  with  his  handkerchief,  which  he  rolled 
into  a  ball,  and  threw  inio  the  quarry.  Coming 
up  to  the  surface  again,  he  said  to  the  mild  and 
benevolent  scientist  "I  cannot  find  a  trace  of 
the  dog." 

"Nor  can  I."  said  Lambelle.     "Of  course 


a  "Wcw  ^Explosive. 


109 


:om 
ster 
of 
the 
the 
the 
d  it 
led 


when  you  can  hardly  find  a  sign  of  the  building 
it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  there  should  be  any 
remnants  of  the  do^^." 

"  Suppose  we  get  back  to  the  hill  now  and 
have  lunch,"  said  the  Minister. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  try  another  experiment  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  try  one  more  after  we  have 
had  something  to  eat.  What  would  be  the  effect 
if  you  poured  the  whole  bottleful  into  the  quarry 
and  set  it  off?" 

"  Oh,  impossible  ! "  cried  Lambelle.  "  It 
would  rend  this  whole  part  of  the  country  to 
pieces.  In  fact,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  shock 
would  not  be  felt  as  far  as  Paris,  With  a  very 
few  drops  I  can  shatter  the  whole  quarry." 

"  Well,  we'll  try  that  after  lunch.  We  have 
another  dog  left." 

When  an  hour  had  passed,  Lambelle  was  anx- 
ious to  try  his  quarry  experiment. 

"  By-and-by,"  he  said,  "  the  sun  will  not  be 
shining  in  the  quarry,  and  then  it  will  be  too 
late." 

"  We  can  easily  wait  until  to-morrow,  unless 
you  are  in  a  hurry." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  rejoined  the  inventor. 
"  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  be,  with  so  much 
to  do." 

"  No,"  replied  the  official.  "  Nothing  I  shall 
do  during  my  administration  will  be  more  im- 
portant than  this." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  answered 
Lambelle  ;  "  and  if  you  will  give  me  the  bottle 
again  I  will  now  place  a  few  drops  in  the  sunny 
part  of  the  quarry." 

The  Minister  handed  him  the  bottle,  appar- 
ently with  some  reluctance. 

"  I  still  think,"  he  said,  "  that  it  would  be 
much  better  to  allow  this  secret  to  die.  No 
one  knows  it  at  present  but  yourself.     With  you. 


im 


i5r 
1 ' 


Hi 


f^  !i« 


' "« 


rse 


M'^ 


,.i.l 


;:!' 


4 


1'^      w 

if 


1  ij ' 

kf      I 
i  t 


,!f. 


rf, 


1 10 


^be  5ace  anD  tbe  ASasfi* 


as  I  have  said,  it  will  be  safe,  or  with  me ;  but 
think  of  the  awful  possibilities  of  a  disclosure." 

"  Every  great  invention  has  its  risks,"  said 
Lambelle  firmly.  "  Nothing  would  induce  me 
to  forego  the  fruits  of  my  life-work.  It  is  too 
much  to  ask  of  any  man." 

*•  Very  well,"  said  the  Minister.  "  Then  let 
us  be  sure  of  our  facts.  I  want  to  see  the  ef- 
fects of  the  explosive  on  the  quarry." 

"  You  shall,"  said  Lambelle,  as  he  departed. 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  here,"  said  the  Minister^ 
"  and  smoke  a  cigarette." 

When  the  inventor  approached  the  quarry, 
leading  the  dog  behind  him,  the  Minister's 
hand  trembled  so  that  he  was  hardly  able  to 
hold  the  field-glass  to  his  eye.  Lambelle  disap- 
peared down  the  path.  The  next  instant  the 
ground  trembled  even  where  the  Minister  sat, 
and  a  haze  of  dust  arose  above  the  ruined 
quarry. 

Some  moments  after  the  pallid  Minister 
looked  over  the  work  of  destruction,  but  no 
trace  of  humanity  was  there  except  himself. 

"  I  could  not  do  otherwise,"  he  murmured^ 
"  It  was  too  great  a  risk  to  run." 


««' 


but 

re." 

said 

me 

too 

let 
ef- 

ted. 
)ter, 

,rry, 
er's 
;  to 
;ap- 
the 
sat, 
ned 

ster 
no 


THE    GREAT    PEGRAIVI 
MYSTERY. 

( tVi/A  apologies  to  Dr.    Conan  Doyle^  and  our  mu- 
tiiai  andlamented friend  the  late  Sherlock  Holmes,) 

I  DROPPED  in  on  my  friend,  Sherlaw  Kombs, 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say  about  the  Pegram 
mystery,  as  it  had  come  to  be  called  in  the 
newspapers.  I  found  him  playing  the  violin 
with  a  look  of  sweet  peace  and  serenity  on  his 
face,  which  I  never  noticed  on  the  countenan- 
ces of  those  within  hearing  distance.  I  knew 
this  expression  of  seraphic  calm  indicated  that 
Kombs  had  been  deeply  annoyed  about  some- 
thing. Such,  indeed,  proved  to  be  the  case» 
for  one  of  the  morning  papers  had  contained  an 
article,  eulogizing  the  alertness  and  general 
competence  of  Scotland  Yard.  So  great  was 
Sherlaw  Kombs 's  contempt  for  Scotland  Yard 
that  he  never  would  visit  Scotland  during  his 
vacations,  nor  would  he  ever  admit  that  a 
Scotchman  was  fit  for  anything  but  export. 

He  generously  put  away  his  violin,  for  he  had 
a  sincere  liking  for  me,  and  greeted  me  with 
his  usual  kindness. 

"  I  have  come,"  I  began,  plunging  at  once 
into  the  matter  on  my  mind,  "  to  hear  what  you 
think  of  the  great  Pegram  mystery." 

"  I  haven't  heard  of  it,"  he  said  quietly,  just 
as  if  all  London  were  not  talking  of  that  very 
thing.    Kombs  was  curiously  ignorant  on  some 


'*\ 


i 

U 


Jk' 


^'|v  I 


I     i 


112 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  /Iba^ft. 


subjects,  and  abnormally  learned  on  others. 
I  found,  for  instance,  that  political  discussion 
with  him  was  impossible,  because  he  did  not 
know  who  Salisbury  and  Gladstone  were. 
This  made  his  friendship  a  great  boon. 

"  The  Pegram  mystery  has  baffled  even  Greg- 
ory, of  Scotland  Yard." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  said  my  friend,  calmly. 
"  Perpetual  motion,  or  squaring  the  circle, 
would  baffle  <  regory.  He's  an  infant,  is  Greg- 
ory." 

This  was  one  of  the  things  I  always  liked 
about  Kombs.  There  was  no  professional  jeal- 
ousy in  him,  such  as  characterizes  so  many 
other  men. 

He  filled  his  pipe,  threw  himself  into  his 
deep-seated  arm-chair,  placed  his  feet  on  the 
mantel,  and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  simply. 

"  Old  Barrie  Kipson,"  I  began,  "  was  a  stock- 
broker in  the  City.  He  lived  in  Pegram,  and  it 
was  his  custom  to ' 

••  Come  in  ! ''  shouted  Kombs,  without  chang- 
ing his  position,  but  with  a  suddenness  that 
startled  me.     I  had  heard  no  knock. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  my  friend,  laughing,  "  my 
invitation  to  enter  was  a  trifle  premature.  I 
was  really  so  interested  in  your  recital  that  I 
spoke  before  I  thought,  which  a  detective  should 
never  do.  The  fact  is,  a  man  will  be  here  in  a 
moment  who  will  tell  me  all  about  this  crime, 
and  so  you  will  be  spared  further  effort  in  that 
line." 

"Ah,  you  have  an  appointment.  In  that 
case  I  will  not  intrude,"  1  said,  rising. 

"  Sit  down ;  I  have  no  appointment.  I  did 
not  know  until  I  spoke  that  he  was  coming." 

I  gazed  at  him  in  amazement.  Accustomed 
as  I  was  to  his  extraordinary  talents,  the  man 
was  a  perpetual  surprise  to  me,     He  continued 


that 
did 


^be  (3tcat  pcdtam  Hs'^Btct^,      113 

to  smoke  quietly,  but  evidently  enjoyed  my  con- 
sternation, 

"  I  see  you  are  surprised.  It  is  really  too 
simple  to  talk  about,  but,  from  my  position  op- 
posite the  mirror,  I  can  see  the  reflection  of 
objects  in  the  street.  A  man  stopped,  looked 
at  one  of  my  cards,  and  then  glanced  across 
the  street.  I  recognized  my  card,  because,  as 
you  know,  they  are  all  in  scarlet.  If,  as  you 
say,  London  is  talking  of  this  mystery,  it  natur- 
ally follows  that  /te  will  talk  of  it,  and  the 
chances  are  he  wished  to  consult  me  about  it. 
Anyone  can  see  that,  besides  there  is  always 
Come  in  !  " 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door  this  time. 

A  stranger  entered.  Sherlaw  Kombs  did  not 
change  his  lounging  attitude. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Sherlaw  Kombs,  the  de- 
tective," said  the  stranger,  coming  within  the 
range  of  the  smoker's  vision. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Kombs,"  I  remarked  at  last,  as 
my  friend  smoked  quietly,  and  seemed  half- 
asleep. 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  myself,"  continued 
the  stranger,  fumbling  for  a  card. 

"  There  is  no  need.  You  are  a  journalist," 
said  Kombs. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  stranger,  somewhat  taken 
aback,  '•  you  know  me,  then." 

"  Never  saw  or  heard  of  you  in  my  life  be- 
fore." 

"  Then  how  in  the  world " 

'*  Nothing  simpler.  You  write  for  an  evening 
paper.  You  have  written  an  article  slating  the 
book  of  a  friend.  He  will  feel  badly  about  it, 
and  you  will  condole  with  him.  He  will  never 
know  who  stabbed  him  unless  I  tell  him." 

"  The  devil !  "  cried  the  journalist,  sinking 
into  a  chair  and  mopping  his  brow,  while  his  face 
became  livid. 


1 

.',* 

i\ 

\\ 

■>  i 

i 

* 

\ 

m 

i 

^'* 

■^- 


.  ■)■ 


114 


X^be  jface  anD  tbe  iBbash. 


"  Yes,"  drawled  Kombs,  "  it  is  a  devil  of  a 
shame  that  such  things  are  done.  But  what 
would  you  ?  as  we  say  in  France." 

When  the  journalist  had  recovered  his  second 
wind  he  pulled  himself  together  somewhat. 
"  Would  you  object  to  telling  me  how  you  know 
these  particular;  about  a  man  you  say  you  have 
never  seen  ?  " 

"  I  rarely  talk  about  these  things,"  said  Kombs 
with  great  composure.  "  But  as  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  habit  of  observation  may  help  you  in 
your  profession,  and  thus  in  a  remote  degree 
benefit  me  by  making  your  paper  less  deadly 
dull,  I  will  tell  you.  Your  first  and  second  fin- 
gers are  smeared  with  ink,  which  shows  that 
you  write  a  great  deal.  This  smeared  class  em- 
braces two  sub-classes,  clerks  or  accountants, 
and  journalists.  Clerks  have  to  be  neat  in  their 
work.  The  ink-smear  is  slight  in  their  case. 
Your  fingers  are  badly  and  carelessly  smeared ; 
therefore,  you  are  a  journalist.  You  have  an 
evening  paper  in  your  pocket.  Anyone  might 
have  any  evening  paper,  but  yours  is  a  Special 
Edition,  which  will  not  be  on  the  streets  for 
half-an-hour  yet.  You  must  have  obtained  it 
before  you  left  the  office,  and  to  do  this  you 
must  be  on  the  staff.  A  book-notice  is  marked 
with  a  blue  pencil.  A  journalist  always  despises 
every  article  in  his  own  paper  not  written  by 
himself ;  therefore,  you  WTote  the  article  you 
have  marked,  and  doubtless  are  about  to  send 
it  to  the  author  of  the  book  referred  to.  Your 
paper  makes  a  specialty  of  abusing  all  books 
not  written  by  some  member  of  its  own  staff. 
That  the  author  is  a  friend  of  yours,  I  merely 
surmised.  It  is  all  a  trivial  example  of  ordinary 
observation." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Kombs,  you  are  the  most  won- 
derful man  on  earth.  You  are  the  equal  of 
Gregory,  by  Jove,  you  are." 


( 


it 


you 
send 


I 


Zbc  (5reat  iPegram  ^s^tcvs.      "5 

A  frown  marred  the  brow  of  my  friend  as  he 
placed  his  pipe  on  the  sideboard  and  drew  his 
self-cocking  six-shooter. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  sir  ?  " 

'•  I  do  not — I — I  assure  you.     You  are  fit    to 

take  charge  of  Scotland  Yard  to-morrow . 

I  am  in  earnest,  indeed  I  am,  sir." 

"  Then  Heaven  help  you,"  cried  Kombs, 
slowly  raising  his  right  arm. 

I  sprang  between  them. 

"  Don't  shoot !  "  I  cried.  "  You  will  spoil 
the  carpet.  Besides,  Sherlaw,  don't  you  see  the 
man  means  well.  He  actually  thinks  it  is  a 
compliment !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  remarked  the  de- 
tective, flinging  his  revolver  carelessly  beside 
his  pipe,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  third  party. 
Then,  turning  to  the  journalist,  he  said,  with 
his  customary  bland  courtesy — 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,  I  think  you  said. 
What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.Wilber  Scribbings  ?  " 

The  journalist  started. 

"  How  do  you  know  my  name  ?  "  he  gasped. 

Kombs  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"  Look  inside  your  hat  if  you  doubt  your  own 
name  ?  " 

I  then  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  name 
was  plainly  to  be  seen  inside  the  top-hat 
Scribbings  held  upside  down  in  his  hands. 

"  You  have  heard,  of  course,  of  the  Pegram 
mystery " 

"  Tush,"  cried  the  detective  ;  "  do  not,  I  beg 
of  you,  call  it  a  mystery.  There  is  no  such  thing. 
Life  would  become  more  tolerable  if  there  ever 
laas  a  mystery.  Nothing  is  original.  Every- 
thing has  been  done  before.  What  about  the 
Pegram  affair  ?  " 

"  The  Pegram — ah — case  has  bafiFled  every- 
one. The  Evening  Blade  wishes  you  to  inves- 
tigate, so  that  it    may    publish    the  result.     It 


\ 


^.% 


I 


:') 


^K 


;  V 


ii6 


Zbc  Efface  and  tbe  A^asli. 


) 


!| 


I- 


t' 

'i 

f 

I 


will  pay  you  well.  Will  you  accept  the  com- 
mission ?  " 
"  Possibly.  Tell  me  about  the  case." 
"  I  thought  everybody  knew  the  particulars. 
Mr.  BarrieKipson  lived  at  Pegram.  He  carried 
a  first-class  season  ticket  between  the  terminus 
and  that  station.  It  was  his  custom  to  leave 
for  Pegram  on  the  5.30  train  each  evening. 
Some  weeks  ago,  Mr.  Kipson  was  brought 
down  by  the  influenza.  On  his  first  visit  to  the 
City  after  his  recovery,  he  drew  something  like 
;£3oo  in  notes,  and  left  the  ofiice  at  his  usual 
hour  to  catch  the  5.30.  He  was  never  seen 
again  aK/e,  as  far  as  the  public  have  been  able 
to  learn.  He  was  found  at  Brewster  in  a  first- 
class  compartment  on  the  Scotch  Express, 
which  does  not  stop  between  London  and  Brew- 
ster. There  was  a  bullet  in  his  head,  and  his 
money  was  gone,  pointing  pla*  "y  to  murder 
and  robbery." 

"  And  where  is  the  mystery,  may  I  ask  ?  " 
"There  are  several  unexplainable  things 
about  the  case.  First,  how  came  he  on  the 
Scotch  Express,  which  leaves  at  six,  and  does 
not  stop  at  Pegram  ?  Second,  the  ticket  exam- 
iners at  the  terminus  would  have  turned  him 
out  if  he  showed  his  season  ticket ;  and  all  the 
tickets  sold  for  the  Scotch  Express  on  the  21st 
are  accounted  for.  Third,  how  could  the  mur- 
derer have  escaped  ?  Fourth,  the  passengers  in 
the  two  compartments  on  each  side  of  the  one 
where  the  body  was  found  heard  no  scuffle  and 
no  shot  fired." 

"  Are  you  sure  the  Scotch  Express  on  the 
2 1  St  did  not  stop  between  London  and  Brew- 
ster?" 

"  Now  that  you  mention  the  fact,  it  did.  It 
was  stopped  by  signal  just  outside  of  Pegram. 
There  was  a  few  moments'  pause,  when  the 
line  was  reported  clear,  and  it  went  on  again. 


(Tbe  Great  pegtam  liS^Btcx^,      117 


m 


the 
revv- 


It 

rram. 

the 

Lgain. 


This  frequently  happens,  as  there  is  a  branch 
line  beyond  Pegram." 

Mr.  Sherlaw  Kombs  pondered  for  a  few 
moments,  smoking  his  pipe  silently. 

"  I  presume  you  wish  the  solution  in  time  for 
to-morrow's  paper  }  " 

"Bless  my  soul,  no.  The  editor  thought  if 
you  evolved  a  theory  in  a  month  you  would  do 
well." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  do  not  deal  with  theories, 
but  with  facts.  If  you  can  make  it  convenient 
to  call  here  to-morrow  at  8  a.  m.  I  will  give  you 
the  full  particulars  early  enough  for  the  first  edi- 
tion. There  is  no  sense  in  taking  up  much  time 
over  so  simple  an  affair  as  the  Pegram  case. 
Good  afternoon,  sir." 

Mr.  Scribbings  was  too  much  astonished  to 
retur  \  the  greeting.  He  left  in  a  speechless 
condition,  and  I  saw  him  go  up  the  street  with 
his  hat  still  in  his  hand. 

Sherlaw  Kombs  relapsed  into  his  old  loung- 
ing attitude,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head.  The  smoke  came  from  his  lips  in  quick 
puffs  at  first,  then  at  longer  intervals.  I  saw  he 
was  coming  to  a  conclusion,  so  I  said  nothing. 

Finally  he  spoke  in  his  most  dreamy  manner. 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  to  be  rushing  things 
at  all,  Whatson,  but  I  am  going  out  to-night  on 
the  Scotch  Express.  Would  you  care  to  ac- 
company me  ?  " 

**  Bless  me ! "  I  cried,  glancing  at  the  clock, 
"you  haven't  time,  it  is  after  five  now." 

"  Ample  time,  Whatson— ample,"  he  mur- 
mured, without  changing  his  position.  "  I  give 
myself  a  minute  and  a  half  to  change  slippers 
and  dressing  gown  for  boots  and  coat,  three 
seconds  for  hat,  twenty-five  seconds  to  the 
street,  forty-two  seconds  waiting  for  a  hansom, 
and  then  seven  at  the  terminus  before  the  express 
starts.     I  shall  be  glad  of  your  company." 


w 

'( 

F 

■    ' 

,.^ 

.'^ 

fW 

1  ^ 

t 

'.4 
1 

i 

'  > 


.1,. 

/ 

1 


« 


I' 


1 

4 1 

I   I 


i^, 


* 


ii8 


^be  jface  and  tbe  Abaefi. 


I  was  only  too  happy  to  have  the  privilege  of 
going  with  him.  It  was  most  interesting  to 
watch  the  workings  of  so  inscrutable  a  mind. 
As  we  drove  under  the  lofty  iron  roof  of  the 
terminus  I  noticed  a  look  of  annoyance  pass 
over  his  face. 

"  We  are  fifteen  seconds  ahead  of  our  time," 
he  remarked,  looking  at  the  big  clock.  "  I  dis- 
like having  a  miscalculation  of  that  sort  occur." 

The  great  Scotch  Express  stood  ready  for  its 
long  journey.  The  detective  tapped  one  of  the 
guards  on  the  shoulder. 

'•  You  have  heard  of  the  so-called  Pegram 
mystery,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.  It  happened  on  this  very 
train,  sir." 

"  Really  ?  Is  the  .same  carriage  still  on  the 
train  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,  it  is,"  replied  the  guard,  low- 
ering his  voice,  "  but  of  course,  sir,  we  have  to 
keep  very  quiet  about  it.  People  wouldn't 
travel  in  it,  else,  sir." 

"  Doubtless.  Do  you  happen  to  know  if 
anybody  occupies  the  compartment  in  which  the 
body  was  found  ?  " 

*'  A  lady  and  gentleman,  sir ;  I  put  'em  in 
myself,  sir." 

"  Would  you  further  oblige  me,"  said  the  de- 
tective, deftly  slipping  half-a-sovereign  into  the 
hand  of  the  guard,  "  by  going  to  the  window 
and  informing  them  in  an  offhand  casual  sort 
of  way  that  the  tragedy  took  place  in  that  com- 
partment ?  " 

*'  Certainly,  sir." 

We  followed  the  guard,  and  the  moment  he 
had  imparted  his  news  there  was  a  suppressed 
scream  in  the  carriage.  Instantly  a  lady  came 
out,  followed  by  a  florid-faced  gentleman,  who 
scowled  at  the  guard.  We  entered  the  now 
empty  compartment,  and  Kombs  said  : 


\\l 


"     ] 


in 

de- 

the 

idow 

sort 

:om- 


k  he 
Used 
came 
I  who 
now 


^be  Great  pcgram  /Ib^stens.      119 

'•  We  would  like  to  be  alone  here  until  we 
reach  Brewster." 

•'  I'll  see  to  that,  sir,"  answered  the  guard, 
locking  the  door. 

When  the  official  moved  away,  I  asked  my 
friend  what  he  expected  to  find  in  the  carriage 
that  would  cast  any  light  on  the  case. 

"  Nothing,"  was  his  brief  reply. 

*'  Then  why  do  you  come  }  " 

"  Merely  to  corroborate  the  conclusions  I 
have  already  arrived  at." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  those  conclusions  are  ?  '' 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  detective,  with  a 
touch  of  lassitude  in  his  voice.  '*  I  beg  to  call 
your  attention,  first,  to  the  fact  that  this  train 
stands  between  two  platforms,  and  can  be  en- 
tered from  either  side.  Any  man  familiar  with 
the  station  for  years  would  be  aware  of 
that  fact.  This  shows  how  Mr.  Kipson  en- 
tered the  train  just  before  it  started." 

"  But  the  door  on  this  side  is  locked,"  I  ob- 
jected, trying  it. 

''  Of  course.  But  every  season  ticket-holder 
carries  a  key.  This  accounts  for  the  guard  not 
seeing  him,  and  for  the  absence  of  a  ticket. 
Now  let  me  give  you  some  information  about 
the  influenza.  The  patient's  temperature  rises 
several  degrees  above  normal,  and  he  has  a 
fever.  When  the  malady  has  run  its  course, 
the  temperature  falls  to  three-quarters  of  a  de- 
gree below  normal.  These  facts  are  unknown 
to  you,  I  imagine,  because  you  are  a  doctor." 

I  admitted  such  was  the  case. 

••  Well,  the  consequence  of  this  fall  in  tem- 
perature is  that  the  convalescent's  mind  turns 
toward  thoughts  of  suicide.  Then  is  the  time  he 
should  be  watched  by  his  friends.  Then  was  the 
time  Mr.  Barrie  Kipson's  friends  did  not  watch 
him.  You  remember  the  21st,  of  course.  No? 
It  was  a  most  depressing  day.     Fog  all  around 


..|i 


I 


■■        } 


.1'i 


I"! 


120 


Hbe  face  and  tbc  Aaek. 


h^ 


ii 


'[  ! 


•'  I 


I 


IJ 


i\ 


and  mud  under  foot.  Very  good.  He  resolves 
on  suicide.  He  wishes  to  be  unidentified,  if 
possible  but  forgets  his  season  ticket.  My  ex- 
perience is  that  a  man  about  to  commit  a  crime 
always  forgets  something." 

"  But  how  do  you  account  for  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  money?  " 

"  The  money  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter.  If  he  was  a  deep  man,  and  knew  the 
stupidness  of  Scotland  Yard,  he  probably  sent 
the  notes  to  an  enemy.  If  not,  they  may  have 
been  given  to  a  friend.  Nothing  is  more  calcu- 
lated to  prepare  the  mind  for  self-destruction 
than  the  prospect  of  a  night  ride  on  the  Scotch 
Express,  and  the  view  from  the  windows  of  the 
train  as  it  passes  through  the  northern  part  of 
London  is  particularly  conducive  to  thoughts  of 
annihilation." 

"  What  became  of  the  weapon  }  " 

**  That  is  just  the  point  on  which  I  wish  to 
satisfy  myself.    Excuse  me  for  a  moment." 

"  Mr.  Sherlaw  Kombs  drew  down  the  win- 
dow on  the  right  hand  side,  and  examined  the 
top  of  the  casing  minutely  with  a  magnifying 
glass.  Presently  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  anC 
drew  up  the  sash. 

"  Just  as  I  expected,"  he  remarked,  speaking 
more  to  himself  than  to  me.  "  There  is  a  slight 
dent  on  the  top  of  the  window-frame.  It  is  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  be  made  only  by  the  trigger 
of  a  pistol  falling  from  the  nerveless  hand  of  a 
suicide.  He  intended  to  throw  the  weapon  far 
out  of  the  window,  but  had  not  the  strength. 
It  might  have  fallen  into  the  carriage.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  bounced  away  from  the  line 
and  lies  among  the  grass  about  ten  feet  six 
inches  from  the  outside  rail.  The  only  question 
that  now  remains  is  where  the  deed  was  com- 
mitted, and  the  exact  present  position  of  the 
pistol  reckoned  in  miles  from  London,  but  that. 


■^  '  \1 


the 


ant 


IS 


of 


of  a 
far 

igth. 

lS  a 
line 
six 

stion 

:om- 
the 

Ithat, 


^be  <3reat  pcdtam  lis^etcx^*      121 

fortunately,  is  too  simple  to  even  need  explana- 
tion." 

"  Great  heavens,  Sherlaw  I  "  I  cried.  "  How 
can  you  call  that  simple  ?  It  seems  to  me  impos- 
sible to  compute." 

We  were  now  flying  over  Northern  London, 
and  the  great  detective  leaned  back  with  every 
sign  of  ennui,  closing  his  eyes.  At  last  he 
spoke  wearily  : 

"  It  is  really  too  elementary,  Whatscn,  but  I 
am  always  willing  to  oblige  a  friend.  I  shall  be 
relieved,  however,  when  you  are  able  to  work 
out  the  A  B  C  of  detection  for  yourself,  although 
I  shall  never  object  to  helping  you  with  the 
words  of  more  than  three  syllables.  Havmg 
made  up  his  mind  to  commit  suicide,  Kipson 
naturally  intended  to  do  it  before  he  reached 
Brewster,  because  tickeis  are  again  examined  at 
that  point.  When  the  train  began  to  stop  at  the 
signal  near  Pegram,  he  came  to  the  false  con- 
clusion that  it  was  stopping  at  Brewster.  The 
fact  that  the  shot  was  not  heard  is  accounted 
for  by  the  screech  of  the  air-brake,  added  to 
the  noise  of  the  train.  Probably  the  whistle 
was  also  sounding  at  the  same  moment.  The 
train  being  a  fast  express  would  stop  as  near 
the  signal  as  possible.  The  air-brake  will  stop 
a  train  m  twice  its  own  length.  Call  it  three 
times  in  this  case.  Very  well.  At  three  times 
the  length  of  this  train  from  the  signalpost  to- 
wards London,  deducting  half  the  length  of 
the  train,  as  this  carriage  is  in  the  middle,  you 
will  find  the  pistol." 

*'  Wonderful ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Commonplace,"  he  murmured. 

At  this  moment  the  whistle  sounded  shrilly, 
and  we  felt  the  grind  of  the  air-brakes. 

"  The  Pegram  signal  again,"  cried  Kombs, 
with    something     almost     like      enthusiasm. 


'   < 


i 

■I 


f 


■  II  ■  *  i^>r      hST^SCS 


1     V 


I-  i 


m 


^^ 


d 


f. 


122 


XTbe  ^ace  atiD  tbe  /Dbadfi* 


"This  is  indeed  luck.  We  will  get  out  here, 
Whatson,  and  test  the  matter." 

As  the  train  stopped,  we  got  out  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  line.  The  engine  stood  pant- 
ing impatiently  under  the  red  light,  which 
changed  lo  green  as  I  looked  at  it.  As  the  train 
moved  on  with  increasing  speed,  the  detective 
counted  the  carriages,  and  noted  down  the 
number.  It  was  now  dark,  with  the  thin  crescent 
of  the  moon  hanging  in  the  western  sky  throw- 
ing a  weird  half-light  on  the  shining  metals. 
The  rear  lamps  of  the  train  disappeared  around 
a  curve,  and  the  signal  stood  at  baleful  red 
again.  The  black  magic  of  the  lonesome  night 
in  that  strange  place  impressed  me,  but  the 
detective  was  a  most  practical  man.  He  placed 
his  back  against  the  signal-post,  and  paced  up 
the  Hne  with  even  strides,  counting  his  steps. 
I  walked  along  the  permanent  way  beside  him 
silently.  At  last  he  stopped,  and  took  a  tape- 
line  from  his  pocket.  He  ran  it  out  until  the 
ten  feet  six  inches  were  unrolled,  scanning  the 
figures  in  the  wan  light  of  the  new  moon. 
Giving  me  the  end,  he  placed  his  knuckles  on 
the  metals,  motioning  me  to  proceed  down  the 
embankment.  I  stretched  out  the  line,  and  then 
sank  my  hand  in  the  damp  grass  to  mark  the 
spot. 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried,  aghast,  "  what  is 
this  ?  " 

*'  It  is  the  pistol,"  said  Kombs  quietly. 

It  was  ! ! 


J: 


JournaliFcic  London  will  not  soon  forget  the 
sensation  that  was  caused  by  the  record  of  the 
investigations  of  Sherlaw  Kombs,  as  printed  at 
length  in  the  next  day's  Evetting  Blade. 
Would  that  my  story  ended  here.  Alas ! 
Kombs  contemptuously  turned  over  the 
pistol   to  Scotland    Yard.    The     meddlesome 


JT 


(M    i^ 


It     IS 


^bc  <3rcat  pegram  ift^ggterr.        123 

officials,  actuated,  as  I  always  hold,  by  jealousy, 
found  the  name  of  the  seller  upon  it.  They 
investigated.  The  seller  testified  that  it  had 
never  been  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Kipson,  as 
far  as  he  knew.  It  was  sold  to  a  man  whose 
description  tallied  with  that  of  a  criminal  long 
watched  by  the  police.  He  was  arrested,  and 
turned  Queen's  evidence  in  the  hope  of  Iianging 
his  pal.  It  seemed  that  Mr.  Kipson,  who  was  a 
gloomy,  taciturn  man,  and  usually  came  home 
in  a  compartment  by  himself,  thus  escaping 
observation,  had  been  murdered  in  the  lane 
leading  to  his  house.  After  robbing  him,  the 
miscreants  turned  their  thoughts  towards  the 
disposal  of  the  body — a  subject  that  always 
occupies  a  first-class  criminal  mind  before  the 
deed  is  done.  They  agreed  to  place  it  on  the 
line,  and  have  it  mangled  by  the  Scotch  Express, 
then  nearly  due.  Before  they  got  the  body 
half-way  up  the  embankment  the  express 
came  along  and  stopped.  The  guard  got  out 
and  walked  along  the  other  side  to  speak  with 
the  engineer.  The  thought  of  putting  the  body 
into  an  empty  first-class  carriage  instantly 
occurred  to  the  murderers.  They  opened  the 
door  with  the  deceased's  key.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  pistol  dropped  when  they  were  hoisting 
the  body  in  the  carriage. 

The  Queen's  evidence  dodge  didn't  work, 
and  Scotland  Yard  ignobly  insulted  my  friend 
Sherlaw  Kombs  by  sending  hira  a  pass  to  see 
the  villains  hanged. 


f 


It  the 

the 
;d  at 

Jas ! 
the 
some 


y.'  r.,-- - 


''     ■  ri 


,_  .    i 


■•  ■  r 


DEATH  COMETH  SOON  OR 

LATE. 

It  was  Alick  Robbins  who  named  the  invalid 
the  Living  Skeleton,  and  probably  remorse  for 
having  thus  given  him  a  title  so  descriptively 
accurate,  caused  him  to  make  friends  with  the 
Living  Skeleton,  a  man  who  seemed  to  have  no 
friends. 

Robbins  never  forgot  their  first  conversation. 
It  happened  in  this  way.  It  was  the  habit  of 
the  Living  Skeleton  to  leave  his  hotel  every 
morning  promptly  at  ten  o'clock,  if  the  sun  was 
shining,  and  to  shuffle  rather  than  walk  down 
the  gravel  street  to  the  avenue  of  palms.  There, 
picking  out  a  seat  on  which  the  sun  shone,  the 
Living  Skeleton  would  sit  down  and  seem  to  wait 
patiently  for  someone  who  never  came.  He 
wore  a  shawl  around  his  neck  and  a  soft  cloth 
cap  on  his  skull.  Every  bone  in  his  face  stood 
out  against  the  skin,  for  there  seemed  to  be  no 
flesh,  and  his  clothes  hung  as  loosely  upon  him 
as  they  would  have  upon  a  skeleton.  It  re- 
quired no  second  glance  at  the  Living  Skeleton 
to  know  that  the  remainder  of  his  life  was  num- 
bered by  days  or  hours,  and  not  by  weeks  or 
months.  He  didn't  seem  to  have  energy  enough 
even  to  read,  and  so  it  was  that  Robbins  sat 
down  one  day  on  the  bench  beside  him,  and 
said  sympathetically  * — 

"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  better  to-day." 

The  Skeleton  turned  towards  him,  laughed  a 


I  I 


rM! 


[t  re- 

jleton 

num- 

tks  or 

lough 

^s  sat 

and 


fhed  a 


Deatb  Cometb  Soon  or  Xate*      125 

low,  noiseless,  mirthless  laugh  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  in  a  hollow,  far-away  voice  that 
had  no  lungs  behind  it :  "I  am  done  with  feel- 
ing either  better  or  worse." 

"  Oh,  I  trust  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said 
Robbins  ;  "  the  climate  is  doing  you  good  down 
here,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Again  the  Skeleton  laughed  silently,  and  Rob- 
bins  began  to  feel  uneasy.  The  Skeleton's 
eyes  were  large  and  bright,  and  they  fastened 
themselves  upon  Robbins  in  a  way  that  increased 
that  gentleman's  uneasiness,  and  made  him 
think  that  perhaps  the  Skeleton  knew  he  had  so 
named  him. 

"  I  have  no  more  interest  in  climate,"  said 
the  Skeleton.  "  I  merely  seem  to  live  because  I 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  living  for  some  years  ; 
I  presume  that  is  it,  because  my  lungs  are  en- 
tirely gone.  Why  I  can  talk  or  why  I  can 
breathe  is  a  mystery  to  me.  You  are  perfectly 
certain  you  can  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hear  you  quite  distinctly,"  said  Rob- 
bins. 

"  Well,  if  it  wasn't  that  people  tell  me  that 
they  can  hear  me,  I  wouldn't  believe  I  was 
really  speaking,  because,  you  see,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  speak  with.  Isn't  it  Shakespeare  who 
says  something  about  when  the  brains  are  out 
the  man  is  dead  ?  Well,  I  have  seen  som..  men 
who  make  me  think  Shakespeare  was  wrong  in 
his  diagnosis,  but  it  is  generally  supposed  that 
when  the  lungs  are  gone  a  man  is  dead.  To 
tell  the  truth  I  am  dead,  practically.  You 
know  the  old  American  story  about  the  man 
who  walked  around  to  save  funeral  expenses  ; 
well,  it  isn't  quite  that  way  with  me,  but  I  can 
appreciate  how  the  man  felt.  Still  I  take  a 
keen  interest  in  life,  although  you  might  not 
think  so.  You  see,  I  haven't  much  time  left  ; 
I  am  going  to  die  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  30th  of 


\\i 


rt 


126 


^be  3facc  an&  tbe  /iRas??. 


:  <' 


..    *• 


{- 


'H 


I 


;' 

"II 

|Vi 

1? , 

i 

.       !J 

1 

'    i' 

ii 

J  1' 

I  ■ 


April.  Eight  o'clock  at  night,  not  in  the  morn- 
ing, just  dihtr  table  d''h6teP 

"You  are  going  to  what !  "  cried  Robbins  in 
astonishment. 

"  I'm  going  to  die  that  day.  You  see  I  have 
got  things  to  such  a  fine  poin«-  that  I  can  die 
any  time  I  want  to.  I  could  die  right  here, 
now,  if  I  wished.  If  you  have  any  mortal  inter- 
ct  in  the  matter  I'll  do  it,  and  show  you  what 
I  say  is  true.  I  don't  mind  much,  you  know, 
although  I  had  fixed  April  the  30th  as  the  limit. 
It  wouldn't  matter  a  bit  for  me  to  go  off  now, 
if  it  would  be  of  any  interest  to  you." 

"  I  beg  you,"  said  Robbins,  very  much 
alarmed,  "  not  to  try  any  experiments  on  my 
account.  I  am  quite  willing  to  believe  anything 
you  say  about  the  matter — of  course  you  ought 
to  know." 

"  Yes,  I  do  know,"  answered  the  Living 
Skeleton  sadly.  "  Of  course  I  have  had  my 
struggle  with  hope  and  fear,  but  that  is  all 
past  now,  as  you  may  well  understand.  The 
reason  that  I  have  fixed  the  date  for  April  30th 
is  this  :  you  see  I  have  only  a  certain  amount 
of  money — I  do  not  know  why  I  should  make 
any  secret  of  it.  I  have  exactly  240  francs  to- 
day, over  and  above  another  100  francs  which  I 
have  set  aside  for  another  purpose.  I  am  paying 
8  francs  a  day  at  the  Golden  Dragon  ;  that  will 
keep  me  just  thirty  days,  and  then  I  intend  to 
die." 

The  Skeleton  laughed  again,  without  sound, 
and  Robbins  moved  uneasily  on  the  seat. 

"  I  don't  see,"  he  said  finally,  "  what  there  is 
to  laugh  about  in  that  condition  of  affairs." 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  very  much ;  but  there 
is  something  else  that  I  consider  very  laughable, 
and  that  I  will  tell  you  if  you  will  keep  it  a 
secret.  You  see,  the  Golden  Dragon  him- 
self—I   always  call  our  innkeeper  the  Golden 


sOund, 
lere  is 

It  there 
rhable, 
jp  it  a 
him- 
olden 


Beatb  Cometb  Soon  or  5late.      127 

Dragon,  just  as  you  call  me  the  Living  Skele- 
ton." 

"  Oh,  I — I — beg  your  pardon,"  stammered 
Robbins,  "  I ." 

"  It  really  doesn't  matter  at  all.  You  are 
perfectly  right,  and  I  think  it  a  very  apt  term. 
Well,  the  old  Golden  Dragon  makes  a  great 
deal  of  his  money  by  robbing  the  dead.  You 
didn't  know  that,  did  you  ?  You  thought  it 
was  the  living  who  supported  him,  and  good- 
ness knows  he  robs  ^Aem  when  he  has  a 
chance.  Well,  you  are  very  much  mistaken. 
When  a  man  dies  in  the  Golden  Dragon,  he, 
or  his  friends  rather,  have  to  pay  very  sweetly 
for  it.  The  Dragon  charges  them  for  re-fur- 
nishing the  room.  Every  stick  of  furniture  is 
charged  for,  all  the  wall-paper,  and  so  on.  I 
suppose  it  is  perfectly  right  to  charge  some- 
thing, but  the  Dragon  is  not  content  with  what 
is  right.  He  knows  he  has  finally  lost  a  custo- 
mer, and  so  he  makes  all  he  can  out  of  him. 
The  furniture  so  paid  for,  is  not  re-placed,  and 
the  walls  are  not  papered  again,  but  the  Dragon 
doesn't  abate  a  penny  of  his  bill  on  that  ac- 
count. Now,  I  have  inquired  of  the  furnishing 
man,  on  the  street  back  of  the  hotel,  and  he  has 
written  on  his  card  just  the  cost  of  mattress, 
sheets,  pillows,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
the  amount  comes  to  about  50  francs.  1  have 
put  in  an  envelope  a  50-franc  note,  and  with  it 
the  card  of  the  furniture  man.  I  have  written 
a  letter  to  the  hotel-keeper,  telling  him  just 
what  the  things  will  cost  that  he  needs,  and 
have  referred  the  Dragon  to  the  card  of  the 
furniture  man  who  has  given  me  the  figures. 
This  envelope  I  have  addressed  to  the  Dragon, 
and  he  will  find  it  when  I  am  dead.  This  is 
the  joke  that  old  man  Death  and  myselfthave  put 
up  on  our  host,  and  my  only  regret  is  that  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  enjoy  a  look  at  the  Dragon's 


4.   ■     m 


I  , 


128 


^be  jface  anD  tbc  /Hbadli. 


B'l 


Ri ' 


.<    » 


i  ■  s 


'I  I 


countenance  as  he  reads  my  last  letter  to  him. 
Another  sum  of  money  I  have  put  away,  in 
good  hands  where  he  won't  have  a  chance  to 
get  it,  for  my  funeral  expenses,  and  then  you 
see  I  am  through  with  the  world.  I  have  no- 
body to  leave  that  I  need  worry  about,  or  who 
would  either  take  care  of  me  or  feel  sorry  for 
me  if  I  needed  care  or  sympathy,  which  I  do 
not.  So  that  is  why  I  laugh,  and  that  is  why  I 
come  down  and  sit  upon  this  bench,  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  enjoy  the  posthumous  joke." 

Robbins  did  not  appear  to  see  the  humor 
of  the  situation  quite  as  strongly  as  the  Living 
Skeleton  did.  At  different  times  after,  when 
they  met  he  had  offered  the  Skeleton  more  money 
if  he  wanted  it,  so  that  he  might  prolong  his  life 
a  little,  but  the  Skeleton  always  refused. 

A  sort  of  friendship  sprang  up  between 
Robbins  and  the  Living  Skeleton,  at  least,  as 
much  of  a  friendship  as  can  exist  between  the 
living  and  the  dead,  for  Robbins  was  a  muscular 
young  fellow  who  did  not  need  to  live  at  the 
Riviera  on  account  of  his  health,  but  merely 
because  he  detested  an  English  winter.  Be- 
sides this,  it  maybe  added,  although  it  really 
is  nobody's  business,  that  a  Nice  Girl  and  her 
parents  lived  in  this  particular  part  of  the 
South  of  France. 

One  day  Robbins  took  a  little  excursion  in  a 
carriage  to  Toulon.  He  had  invited  the  Nice 
Girl  to  go  with  him,  but  on  that  particular  day 
she  could  not  go.  There  was  some  big  charity 
function  on  hand,  and  one  necessary  part  of  the 
affair  was  the  wheedling  of  money  out  of  peo- 
ple's pockets,  so  the  Nice  Girl  had  undertaken 
to  do  part  of  the  wheedling. 

She  was  very  good  at  it,  and  she  rather 
prided  herself  upon  it,  but  then  she  was  a  very 
nice  girl,  pretty  as  well,  and  so  people  found  it 
difficult  to  refuse  her.     On  the  evening  of  the 


"(1  > 


Dcatb  Cometb  Soon  or  Xate»      129 


m. 

in 
to 

fO\X 

no- 
^ho 
for 
do 
.yl 
sun- 

imor 
ving 
vhen 
oney 
is  life 

ween 
St.  as 
n  the 
scular 
It  the 


n 


erely 
Be- 
really 
her 
the 


)f 


in  a 
Nice 
arday 
;harity 
of  the 

peo- 
Irtaken 

I  rather 

U  very 

]und  it 

of  the 


day  there  was  to  be  a  ball  at  the  principal  ho- 
tel of  the  place,  also  in  connection  with  this 
very  desirable  charity.  Robbins  had  reluctantly 
gone  to  Toulon  alone,  but  you  may  depend 
upon  it  he  was  back  in  time  for  the  ball. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  the  Nice  Girl  when  he 
met  her,  "  what  luck  collecting,  to-day.'*  " 

"  Oh,  the  greatest  luck,"  she  replied  enthusi- 
astically, "  and  whom  do  you  think  I  got  the 
most  money  from?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  haven't  the  slighest  idea — that 
old  English  Duke,  he  certainly  has  money 
enough." 

"  No,  not  from  him  at  all ;  the  very  last  per- 
son you  would  expect  it  from — your  friend,  the 
Living  Skeleton.'' 

"  What !  "  cried  Robbins,  in  alarm. 

"  Oh,  I  found  him  on  the  bench  where  he 
usually  sits,  in  the  avenue  of  the  palms.  I 
told  him  all  about  the  charity  and  how  useful 
it  was,  and  how  necessary,  and  how  we  all 
ought  to  give  as  much  as  we  could  towards  it, 
and  he  smiled  and  smiled  at  me  in  that  curious 
way  of  his.  *  Yes,'  he  said  in  a  whisper,  '  I  be- 
lieve the  charity  should  be  supported  by  every- 
one ;  I  will  give  you  eighty  francs.'  Now, 
wasn  't  that  very  generous  of  him  ?  Eighty 
francs,  that  was  ten  times  what  the  Duke  gave, 
and  as  he  handed  me  the  money  he  looked  up 
at  me  and  said  in  that  awful  whisper  of  his : 
*  Count  this  over  carefully  when  you  get  home 
and  see  if  you  can  find  out  what  else  I  have 
given  you.  There  is  more  than  eighty  francs 
there.'    Then,  after  I  got  home,  I " 

But  here  the  Nice  Girl  paused,  when  she 
looked  at  the  face  of  Robbins,  to  whom  she  was 
talking.  That  face  was  ghastly  pale  and  his 
eyes  were  staring  at  her  but  not  seeing  her. 
"  Eighty  francs,"  he  was  whispering  to  himself, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  making  a  mental  calcula- 


''n. 


V  i. 


1  <  l'  ■ 


i)f 


Iv> 


'i 


>i-  Ai 


'  lljl 


V' 


{\ 


130 


^bc  jface  anD  tbc  /Dbadfi* 


tion.     Then  noticing  the   Nice   Girl's   amazed 
look  at  him,  he  said  : 

"  Did  you  take  the  money  ?  " 
"  Of  course  I  took  it,"  she  said,  "  why  should- 
n't I  ?  " 

"  Great  Heavens  !  "  gasped  Robbins,  and 
without  a  word  he  turned  and  fled,  leaving  the 
Nice  Girl  transfixed  with  astonishment  and  star- 
ing after  him  with  a  frown  on  her  pretty  brow. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  such  conduct  ?  " 
she  asked  herself.  But  Robbins  disappeared 
from  the  gathering  throng  in  the  large  room  of 
the  hotel,  dashed  down  the  steps,  and  hurried 
along  the  narrow  pavements  toward  the  "  Golden 
Dragon."  The  proprietor  was  standing  in  the 
hallway  with  his  hands  behind  him,  a  usual  at- 
titude with  the  Dragon. 

"  Where,"  gasped  Robbins,  *'  is  Mr— Mr— " 
and  then  he  remembered  he  didn't  know  the 
name.     "  Where  is  the  Living  Skeleton  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  his  room,"  answered  the 
Dragon,  "he  went  early  to-night,  he  wasn't 
feeling  well,  I  think.'' 

"  What  is  the  number  of  his  room  ?  " 

"  No.  40,"  and  the  proprietor  rang  a  loud, 
jangling  bell,  whereupon  one  of  the  chamber- 
maids appeared.  "  Show  this  gentleman  to  No. 
40." 

The  girl  preceded  Robbins  up  the  stairs. 
Once  she  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and  said 
in  a  whisper,  "  Is  he  worse  ?  " 

"  1  don't  know,"  answered  Robbins,  "  that's 
what  I  have  come  to  see." 

At  No.  40  the  girl  paused,  and  rapped  lightly 
on  the  door  panel.  There  was  no  response. 
She  rapped  again,  this  time  louder.  There  was 
still  no  response. 

"  Try  the  door,"  said  Robbins. 

"  I  am  afraid  to,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Why  ?  " 


'  \' 


azed 


ould- 

,  and 
ig  the 
i  star- 
brow. 

ct?" 
reared 

)om  of 
mrried 
3olden 
;  in  the 
iual  at- 

-Mr-" 
ow  the 

red  the 
wasn't 


Bcatb  Comctb  Soon  or  Xate^      131 

"  Because  he  said  if  he  were  asleep  the  door 
would  be  locked,  and  if  he  were  dead  the  door 
would  be  open." 

'•  When  did  he  say  that  ?  '' 

"  He  said  it  several  times,  sir ;  about  a  week 
ago  the  last  time." 

Robbins  turned  the  handle  of  the  door ;  it 
was  not  locked.  A  dim  light  was  in  the  room, 
but  a  screen  before  the  door  hid  it  from  sight. 
When  he  passed  round  the  screen  he  sa\/,  upon 
the  square  marble-topped  arrangement  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  a  candle  burning,  and  its  light 
shone  on  the  dead  face  of  the  Skeleton,  which 
had  a  grim  smile  on  its  thin  lips,  while  in  its 
clenched  hand  was  a  letter  addressed  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  hotel. 

The  Living  Skeleton  had  given  more  than 
the  eighty  francs  to  that  deserving  charity. 


loud, 
lamber- 

to  No. 

;  stairs, 
id  said 

1'*  that's 

lightly 
tspoP'^e. 
lere  was 


>^    1 


f  I 


I'v       f 


<f 


.  H 


HIGH  STAKES. 

The  snow  was  gently  sifting  down  through 
the  white  glare  of  the  electric  light  when  Pony 
Rowell  buttoned  his  overcoat  around  him  and 
left  the  Metropolitan  Hotel.Vhich  was  his  home. 
He  was  a  young  man,  not  more  than  thirty,  and 
his  face  was  a  striking  one.  It  was  clean  cut 
and  clean  shaven.  It  might  have  been  the  face 
of  an  actor  or  the  face  of  a  statesman.  An 
actor's  face  has  a  certain  mobility  of  expression 
resulting  from  the  habit  of  assuming  characters 
differing  widely.  Rowell's  face,  when  you  came 
to  look  at  it  closely,  showed  that  it  had  been 
accustomed  to  repress  expression  rather  than 
to  show  emotion  of  any  kind.  A  casual  look 
at  Pony  Rowell  made  you  think  his  face  would 
tell  you  something ;  a  closer  scrutiny  showed 
you  that  it  would  tell  you  nothing.  His  eyes 
were  of  a  piercing  steely  gray  that  seemed  to  read 
the  thoughts  of  others,  while  they  effectually  con- 
cealed his  own.  Pony  Rowell  was  known  as  a 
man  who  never  went  back  on  his  word.  He 
was  a  professional  gambler. 

On  this  particular  evening  he  strolled  up  the 
avenue  with  the  easy  carriage  of  a  man  of  infi- 
nite leisure.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment  at  an 
illy-lighted  passage-way  in  the  middle  of  a  large 
building  on  a  side  street,  then  went  in  and 
mounted  a  stair.  He  rapped  lightly  at  a  door. 
A  slide  was  shoved  back  and  a  man  inside 
peered  out  at  him  for  a  moment.  Instantly  the 
door  was  opened,  for  Pony's  face  was  good  for 


T  . 


1)idb  Staltea. 


^3J 


*!      1 


^con- 
as  a 
He 

the 
infi- 
at  an 
large 
and 
door, 
inside 
fly  the 
dfor 


admittance  at  any  of  the  gambling  rooms  in  the 
city.  There  was  still  another  guarded  door  to 
pass,  for  an  honest  gambling-house  keeper  can 
never  tell  what  streak  of  sudden  morality  may 
strike  the  police,  and  it  is  well  to  have  a  few 
moments'  time  in  which  to  conceal  the  parpher- 
nalia  of  the  business.  Of  course,  Mellish's 
gambling  rooms  were  as  well  known  to  the  po- 
lice as  to  Pony  Rowell,  but  unless  some  fuss 
was  made  by  the  public,  Mellish  knew  he  would 
be  free  from  molestation. 

Mellish  was  a  careful  man,  and  a  visitor  had 
to  be  well  vouched  for,  before  he  gained  admis- 
sion. There  never  was  any  trouble  in  Mellish's 
rooms.  He  was  often  known  to  advise  a  player 
to  quit  when  he  knew  the  young  gambler  could 
not  afford  to  lose,  and  mstances  were  cited 
where  he  had  been  the  banker  of  some  man  in 
despair.  Everybody  liked  Mellish,  for  his  gen- 
erosity was  unbounded,  and  he  told  a  good 
story  well. 

Inside  the  room  that  Pony  Rowell  had  pene- 
trated, a  roulette  table  was  at  its  whirling  work 
and  faro  was  going  on  in  another  spot.  At 
small  tables  various  visitors  were  enjoying  the 
game  of  poker. 

"  Hello,  Pony,''  cried  Bert  Ragstock,  "  are 
you  going  to  give  me  my  revenge  to-night  ?  " 

"  I'm  always  willing  to  give  anyone  his  re- 
venge," answered  Pony  imperturbably,  lighting 
a  fresh  cigarette. 

"  All  right  then  ;  come  and  sit  down  here." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  play  just  yet.  I  want  to 
look  on  for  a  while." 

"  Nonsense.  I've  been  waiting  for  you  ever 
so  long  already.     Sit  down." 

"  You  ought  to  know  by  this  time,  Bert,  that 
when  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it.  I  won't  touch  a 
card  till  the  clock  begins  to  strike  1 2.  Then  I'm 
wid  ye." 


''i 


\i 


N 


,.'   '.      1 

1       ■! 

■i 

■^  1 

(ir 

1     '-  * 

r  I'l  ill 

fi 

I^H 

I 

•^  r 

J\i 


«34 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  /l^aali* 


"  Pshaw,  Pony,  you  ought  to  be  above  that 
sort  of  thing.  That's  superstition,  Rowell. 
You're  too  cool  a  man  to  mind  when  you  touch 
a  card.    Come  on." 

"  That's  ail  right.  At  midnight,  I  said  to 
myself,  and  at  midnight  it  shall  be  or  not  at  all.'' 

The  old  gamblers  in  the  place  nodded  ap- 
proval of  this  resolution.  It  was  all  right 
enough  for  Bert  Ragstock  to  sneer  at  supersti- 
tion, because  he  was  not  a  real  gambler.  He 
merely  came  to  Mellish's  rooms  in  the  evening 
because  the  Stock  Exchange  did  not  keep  open 
all  night.  Strange  to  say  Ragstock  was  a  good 
business  man  as  well  as  a  cool  gambler.  He 
bemoaned  the  fate  that  made  him  so  rich  that 
gambling  had  not  the  exhilarating  effect  on  him 
which  it  would  have  had  if  he  had  been  playing 
in  desperation. 

When  the  clock  began  to  chime  midnight 
Pony  Rowell  took  up  the  pack  and  began  to 
shuffle. 

"  Now,  old  man,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  in  to 
win.     I'm  after  big  game  to-night." 

"  Right  you  are,"  cried  Bert,  with  enthusi- 
asm. "  I'll  stand  by  you  as  long  as  the  spots 
stay  on  the  cards." 

In  the  gray  morning,  when  most  of  the  others 
had  left  and  even  Mellish  himself  was  yawning, 
they  were  still  at  it.  The  professional  gambler 
had  won  a  large  sum  of  money ;  the  largest 
sum  he  ever  possessed.  Yet  there  was  no  gleam 
of  triumph  in  his  keen  eyes.  Bert  might  have 
been  winning  for  all  the  emotion  his  face  showed. 
They  were  a  well  matched  pair,  and  they  en- 
joyed playing  with  each  other. 

"  There,"  cried  Pony  at  last,  "  haven't  you 
had  enough  ?  Luck's  against  you.  I  wouldn't 
run  my  head  any  longer  against  a  brick  wall,  if 
I  were  you." 

"  My  dear  Pony,  how  often  have  I   told  you 


\v 


w^m 


fbiQb  Staked. 


^3S 


you 
Idn't 

^11,  if 
you 


there  is  no  such  thing  as  luck.  But  to  tell  the 
truth  I'ti  tired  and  I'm  going  home.  The  re- 
venge is  postponed.  When  do  I  meet  the 
enemy  agam  ?  ' 

Pony  Rowell  shuffled  the  cards  idly  for  a  few 
moments  without  replying  or  raising  his  eyes. 
At  last  he  said : 

"  The  next  time  I  play  you,  Bert,  it  will  be 
for  high  stakes." 

"  Good  heavens,  aren't  you  satisfied  with  the 
stakes  we  played  for  to-night  ?  " 

"  No.  I  want  to  play  you  for  a  stake  that  will 
make  even  your  hair  stand  on  end.  Will  you 
doit?" 

"  Certainly.     When  ?  " 

•'  That  I  can't  tell  just  yet.  I  have  a  big 
scheme  on  hand.  I  am  to  see  a  man  to-day 
about  it.  All  I  want  to  know  is  that  you  prom- 
ise to  play." 

"  Pony,  this  is  mysterious.  I  guess  you're 
not  afraid  I  will  flunk  out.  I'm  ready  to  meet 
you  on  any  terms  and  for  any  stake." 

"  Enough  said.  I'll  let  you  know  some  of  the 
particulars  as  soon  as  I  find  out  all  I  want  my- 
self.    Good-night." 

"  Good -night  to  you,  rather,"  said  Bert,  as 
Mellish  helped  him  on  with  his  overcoat. 
"  You've  won  the  pile ;  robbing  a  poor  man  of 
his  hard-earned  gains  !  " 

"  Oh,  the  poor  man  does  not  need  the  money 
as  badly  as  I  do.  Besides,  I'm  going  t(  give 
you  a  chance  to  win  it  all  back  again  and 
more." 

When  Ragstock  had  left.  Pony  still  sat  by  the 
table  absent-mindedly  shuffling  the  cards. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  Mellish,  laying  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  I  would  put  that  pile  in 
the  bank  and  quit." 

"  The  faro  bank  ?  "  asked  Pony,  looking  up 
with  a  smile. 


"v 


'» 


IHW 


iji 


i 


H 


<%  : 


\,    t( 


i     ■ 


136 


XLbc  S'ace  and  tbe  Abadfi. 


"  No,  I'd  quit  the  business  altogether  if  I 
were  you.     I'm  going  to  myself . " 

*•  Oh,  we  all  know  that.  You've  been  going 
to  quit  for  the  last  twenty  years.  Well,  I'm 
going  to  quit,  too,  but  not  just  yet.  That's 
what  they  all  say,  of  course,  but  I  mean  it." 

In  the  early  and  crisp  winter  air  Pony  Row- 
ell  walked  to  the  Metropolitan  Hotel  and  to 
bed.  At  3  that  afternoon  the  man  he  had  an 
appointment  with,  called  to  see  him. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me  about  an  Insurance 
policy,"  the  visitor  began.  An  agent  is  always 
ready  to  talk  of  business.  "  Now,  were  you 
thinking  of  an  endowment  scheme  or  have  you 
looked  into  our  new  bond  system  of  insurance  ? 
The  twenty-pay-life  style  of  thing  seems  to  be 
very  popular." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,''  said 
Pony.  "If  I  were  to  insure  my  life  in  your 
company  and  were  to  commit  suicide  would 
that  invalidate  the  policy  ?  " 

"  Not  after  two  years.  After  two  years,  in 
our  company,  the  policy  is  incontestable." 

"  Two  years  ?  That  won't  do  for  me.  Can't 
you  make  it  one  year  }  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  said  the  agent, 
lowering  his  voice,  "  I  can  ante-date  the  policy, 
so  that  the  two  years  will  end  just  when  you 
like,  say  a  year  from  now." 

"  Very  well.  If  you  can  legally  fix  it  so  that 
the  two  years  come  to  an  end  about  this  date 
next  year  I  will  insure  in  your  company  for 
$100,000." 

The  agent  opened  his  eyes  when  the  amount 
was  mentioned. 

"  I  don't  want  endowments  or  bonds,  but 
the  cheapest  form  of  life  insurance  you  have, 
and " 

"  Straight  life  is  what  you  want." 

"  Straight  life  it  is,  then,  and  I  will  pay  you 


mtr 


you 


you 


Digb  Stakes* 


137 


for  the  two  years  or  say,  to  make  it  sure,  for 
two  years  and  a  half  down,  when  you  bring  me 
the  papers." 

Thus  it  was  that  with  part  of  the  money  he 
had  won,  Pony  Rowell  insured  his  life  for 
$100,000,  and  with  another  part  he  paid  his 
board  and  lodging  for  a  year  ahead  at  the  Met- 
ropolitan Hotel. 

The  remainder  he  kept  to  speculate  on. 

During  the  year  that  followed  he  steadily  re- 
fused to  play  with  Bert  Rags-tock,  and  once  or 
twice  they  nearly  had  a  quarrel  about  it — that 
is  as  near  as  Pony  could  come  to  having  a  row 
with  anybody,  for  quarrelling  was  not  in  his 
line.  If  he  had  lived  in  a  less  civilized  part  of 
the  community  Pony  might  have  shot,  but  as  it 
was  quarrels  never  came  to  anything,  therefore 
he  did  not  indulge  in  any. 

"  A  year  from  the  date  of  our  last  game  ? 
What  nonsense  it  is  waiting  all  that  time.  You 
play  with  others,  why  not  with  me  ?  Think  of 
the  chances  we  are  losing,"  complained  Bert. 

"  We  will  have  a  game  then  that  will  make 
up  for  all  the  waiting,"  answered  Rowell. 

Al  last  the  anniversary  came  and  when  the 
hour  struck  that  ushered  it  in  Pony  Rowell  and 
Bert  Ragstock  sat  facing  each  other,  prepared 
to  resume  business  on  the  old  stand. 

"  Ah,"  said  Bert,  rubbing  his  hands,  •'  it  feels 
good  to  get  opposite  you  once  more.  Pony, 
you're  a  crank.  We  might  have  had  a  hun- 
dred games  like  this  during  the  past  year,  if 
there  wasn't  so  much  superstition  about  you." 

"  Not  quite  like  this.  This  is  to  be  the  last 
game  I  play,  win  or  lose.  I  tell  you  that  now, 
so  that  there  won't  be  any  talk  of  revenge  if  I 
win." 

"  You  don't  mean  it  I  Tve  heard  talk  like 
that  before." 

"  All  right.     I've  warned  you.     Now  I  pro- 


-  f 


t  W| 


■  4 


I 

.In 


VI 


138 


XLbc  jf ace  anD  tbe  /Iba^ft* 


J   ■ 


i' 


V  »  :< 


pose  that  this  be  a  game  of  pure  luck.    We  get 

a  new  pack  of  cards,  shuffle  them,   cut,  then 

you  pull  one  card  and  I  another.    Ace  high. 

The  highest  takes  the  pot.    Best  two  out  of 

three.     Do  you  agree  }  " 

"  Of  course.     How  much  is  the  pile  to  be  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  Oh,  you're  dreaming." 

"  Isn't  it  enough  }  " 

"  Thunder  !    You  never  saw  $100,000." 

"  You  will  get  the  money  if  I  lose." 

"  Say,  Pony,  that's  coming  it  a  little  strong. 

One  hundred   thousand  dollars  !     Heavens  and 

earth  !     How  many  business  men  in  this  whole 

city  would  expect  their  bare  word  to  be  taken 

for  $100,000.?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  business  man.     I'm  a  gambler." 
"  True,  true.     Is  the  money  in  sight  ?  " 
"No;  but  you'll  be  paid.     Your  money  is 

not  in    sight.     I   trust  you.     Can't  you   trust 

me  ?  " 

It  isn't  quite   the    same    thing,   Pony.     I'll 

trusc  you  for  three  times  the  money  you  have 

in  sight,  but  when  you  talk  about  $100,000  you 

are  talking  of  a  lot  of  cash." 

"  If  I  can  convince  Mellish  here  that  you  will 

get  your  money,  will  you  play  ?  " 

**  You  can  convince  me  just  as  easily  as  you 

can  Mellish.    What's  the  use  of  dragging  him 

"  I  could  convince  you  in  a  minute,  but  you 
might  still  refuse  to  play.  Now  I'm  bound  to 
play  this  game  and  I  can't  take  any  risks.  If 
my  word  and  Mellish's  isn't  good  enough  for 
you,  why,  say  so." 

"  All  right,"  cried  Bert.  *'  If  you  can  con- 
vince Mellish  that  you  will  pay  if  you  lose  I'll 
play  you." 

Rowell  and  Mellish  retired  into  an  inner 
room  and  after  a  few  minutes  reappeared  again. 


t1 


We  get 

ut,  then 

ce  high. 

out  of 

0  be  ?  " 


I' 


strong, 
ens  and 
s  whole 
e  taken 

ibler." 

oney  is 
u   trust 

ly.  I'll 
lu  have 
XKD  you 

ou  will 

as  you 
ig  him 

lut  you 
und  to 
<s.  If 
gh  for 

con- 
[se  I'll 

inner 
again. 


♦'BERT  HELD  AN  ACE  AND  PONY  A   KI\G."-/^U^^  139. 


9il 


II 


^  t 


t    la 


).: 


fS 


fL.l    f 


1)idb  Staked. 


139 


Mellish's  face  was  red  when  he  went  in.  He 
was  now  a  trifle  pale. 

"  I  don't  like  this,  Bert,"  Mellish  said,  "and 
I  think  this  game  had  better  stop  right  here." 

"  Then  you  are  not  convinced  that  I  am  sure 
of  my  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  but " 

"  That's  enough  for  me.  Get  out  your  new 
pack." 

"  You've  given  your  word,  Mellish,"  said 
Pony,  seeing  the  keeper  of  the  house  was  about 
to  speak.    "  Don't  say  any  more. " 

"  For  such  a  sum  two  out  of  three  is  too  sud- 
den.    Make  it  five  out  of  nine,"-  put  in  Bert. 

"  I'm  willing." 

The  new  pack  of  cards  was  brought  and  the 
wrappings  torn  off. 

"  You  shuffle  first ;  I'll  cut,"  said  Rowell. 
His  lips  seemed  parched  and  he  moistened 
them  now  and  then,  which  was  unusual  for  so 
cool  a  gambler.  Mellish  fidgeted  around  with 
lowered  br^w.  Bert  shuffled  the  cards  as  non- 
chalantly ^3  if  he  had  merely  a  $5  bill  on  the 
rtsult.  When  each  had  taken  a  card,  Bert  held 
an  ace  and  Pony  a  king.  Pony  shuffled  and 
the  turn  up  was  a  spot  in  Pony's  hand  and  a 
queen  in  that  of  his  opponent.  Bert  smiled  and 
drops  began  to  show  on  Pony's  forehead  in 
spite  of  his  efforts  at  self-control.  No  word 
was  spoken  by  either  players  or  onlookers. 
After  the  next  deal  Pony  again  lost.  His  imper- 
turbability seemed  to  be  leaving  him.  He 
swept  the  cards  from  the  table  with  an  oath. 
"  Bring  another  pack,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Bert  smiled  at  him  across  the  cable.  He 
thought,  of  course,  that  they  were  playing  for 
even  stakes. 

Mellish  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  He 
retired  to  one  of  the  inner  rooms.  The  first 
deal  with  the  new  pack  turned  in  Pony's  favor 


1^1 

R 


i    \ 


!• 


'^ 


ii  •:. 


-,  V 
■f-   - 


i; 


7m 


't    r 


>  I 

).    I 


V 

8 


;^^ 


ii»i 


>.  i 


'  <*'■ 


:!'H! 


:i1>^ 


140 


^be  jface  anO  tbe  /Rbaefi. 


and  he  seemed  to  feel  that  his  luck  had  changed, 
but  the  next  deal  went  against  him  and  also  the 
one  following. 

"  It's  your  shuffle,"  said  Rowell,  pushing  the 
cards  towards  his  opponent.  Bert  did  not  touch 
the  cards,  but  smiled  across  at  the    imbler. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ■  Why  don't 
you  shuffle  }  " 

"I  don't  have  to,"  said  Ber^,  quietly,  "  I've 
won  five." 

Rowell  drew  his  hand  across  his  perspiring 
brow  and  stared  at  the  man  across  the  table. 
Then  he  seemed  to  pull  himself  together. 

"  So  you  have,"  he  said,  "  I  hadn't  noticed  it. 
Excuse  me.     I  guess  I'll  go  now." 

"  Sit  where  you  are  and  let  us  have  a  game 
for  something  more  modest,  I  don't  care  about 
these  splurges  myself  and  I  don't  suppose  you  do 
— now." 

"  Thanks,  no.  I  told  you  this  was  my  last 
game.  As  to  the  sj.  lurge,  if  I  had  the  money  I 
would  willingly  try  it  again.     So  long." 

When  Mellish  came  in  and  saw  that  the 
game  was  over  he  asked  where  Pony  was. 

"  He  knew  when  he  had  enough,  I  guess," 
answered  Bert.     "  He's  gone  home." 

'•  Come  in  here,  Bert.  I  want  to  speak  with 
you,"  said  Mellish. 

When  they  were  alone  Mellish  turned  to  him. 

••  I  suppose  Pony  didn't  tell  you  where  the 
money  is  to  come  from  ?" 

"  No,  he  told  you.  That  was  enough  for 
me." 

"  Well,  there's  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
know  now.  I  promised  silence  till  the  game 
was  finished.  He's  insured  his  life  for  $100,000 
and  is  going  to  commit  suicide  so  that  you  may 
be  paid." 

"  My  God  ! "  cried  Bert,  aghast.  "  Why  did 
you  let  the  game  go  on  ?  " 


.<*   r. 


1)idb  Stafiea. 


141 


for 


did 


"  I  tried  to  stop  it,  but  I  had  g.  en  my  word 
and  you " 

"  Well,  don't  let  us  stand  chattering  here. 
He's  at  the  Metropolitan,  isn't  he  ?  Then 
come  along.     Hurry  into  your  coat." 

Mellish  knew  the  number  of  Rowell's  room 
and  so  no  time  was  lost  in  the  hotel  office  with 
inquiries.  He  tried  the  door,  but,  as  he  ex- 
pected, it  was  locked. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  cried  a  voice  within. 

**  It's  me — Mellish.  I  want  t'  speak  with 
you  a  moment." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  you." 

"  Bert  wants  to  say  something.  It's  impor- 
tant.    Let  us  in.'' 

"  I  won't  let  you  in.  Go  away  and  d  \'t 
make  a  fuss.  It  will  do  no  good.  You  ^an 
get  in  ten  minutes  from  now." 

"  Look  here,  Pony,  you  open  that  door  at 
once,  or  I'll  kick  it  in.  You  hear  me  ?  I  want 
to  see  you  a  minute,  and  thjen  you  can  do  what 
you  like,"  said  Bert,  in  a  voice  that  meant  busi- 
ness. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  Rowell  opened 
the  door  and  the  two  stepped  in.  Half  of  the 
carpet  had  been  taken  up  and  the  bare  flloor 
was  covered  with  old  newspapers.  A  revolver 
lay  on  the  table,  also  writing  materials  and  a 
half-finished  letter.  Pony  was  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  and  he  did  not  seem  pleased  at  the 
interruption. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  shortly. 

"  Look  here.  Pony,"  said  Bert,  "  I  have  con- 
fessed to  Mellish  and  I've  come  to  confess  to 
you.  I  want  you  to  be  easy  with  me  and 
hush  the  thing  up.  I  cheated.  I  stocked  the 
cards." 

"  You're  a  liar,"  said  Rowell,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eye. 

*'  Don't  say  that  again,"  cried  Ragstock,  with 


'  I 


I    1 


if 
it 


:  1 1 


It    '  I 


fi^ :; 


142 


Cbc  jface  anD  tbe  yi^asli* 


'* '  »' 


,  i 


his  fingers  twitching.  **  There's  mighty  few 
men  I  would  take  that  from." 

"  You  stocked  the  cards  on  me  ?  I'd  like  to 
see  the  man  that  could  do  it !  " 

"  You  were  excited  and  didn't  notice  it." 

"  You're  not  only  a  liar,  but  you're  an  awk- 
ward liar.  I  have  lost  the  money  and  I'll  pay 
it.  It  would  have  been  ready  for  you  now,  only 
I  had  a  letter  to  write.  Mellish  has  told  you 
about  the  insurance  policy  and  my  will  attached 
to  it.  Here  they  are.  They're  yours.  I'm  no 
kicker.     I  know  when  a  game's  played  fair." 

Bert  took  the  policy  and  evidently  intended 
to  tear  it  in  pieces,  while  Mellish,  with  a  wink 
at  him,  edged  around  to  get  at  the  revolver. 
Ragstock's  eye  caught  the  name  in  big  letters 
at  the  head  of  the  policy,  beautifully  engraved. 
His  eyes  opened  wide,  then  he  sank  into  a  chair 
and  roared  with  laughter.  Both  the  other  men 
looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

•'  What's  the  matter  ? "  asked  Mellish. 

"  Matter }  Why,  this  would  have  been  a 
joke  on  Pony.  It  would  do  both  of  you  some 
good  to  know  a  little  about  business  as  well  as 
of  gambling.  The  Hardfast  Life  Insurance 
Company  went  smash  six  months  ago.  It's 
the  truth  this  time,  Pony,  even  if  I  didn't  stock  the 
cards.  Better  make  some  inquiries  in  business 
circles  before  you  try  to  collect  any  money  from 
this  institution.  Now,  Pony,  order  up,  the 
drinks,  if  anything  can  be  had  at  this  untimely 
hour.  We  are  your  guests  so  you  are  expected 
to  be  hospitable.  I've  had  all  the  excitement  I 
want  for  one  night.  We'll  call  it  square  and 
begin  over  again." 


"  WHERE  IGNORANCE   IS 
BLISS." 

The  splendid  steamship  Adamant,  of  the  cel- 
ebrated Cross  Bow  line,  left  New  York  on  her 
February  trip  under  favorable  auspices.  There 
had  just  been  a  storm  on  the  ocean,  so  there 
was  every  chance  that  she  would  reach  Liverpool 
before  the  next  one  was  due. 

Capt.  Rice  had  a  little  social  problem  to  solve 
at  the  outset,  but  he  smoothed  that  out  with 
the  tact  which  is  characteristic  of  him.  Two 
Washington  ladies — official  ladies — were  on 
board,  and  the  captain,  old  British  sea-dog  that 
he  was,  always  had  trouble  in  the  matter  of  prec- 
edence with  Washington  ladies.  Capt.  Rice 
never  had  any  bother  with  the  British  aristoc- 
racy, because  precedence  is  all  set  down  in  the 
bulky  volume  of  "  Burke's  Peerage,'*  which  the 
captain  kept  in  his  cabin,  and  so  there  was  no 
difficulty.  But  a  republican  country  is  supposed 
not  to  meddle  with  precedence.  It  wouldn't, 
either,  if  it  weren't  for  the  women. 

So  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Assistant- Attorney- 
to-the-Senate  Brownrig  came  to  the  steward 
and  said  that,  ranking  all  others  on  board,  she 
must  sit  at  the  right  hand  of  the  captain.  After- 
wards Mrs.  Second-Adjutant-to-the- War-De- 
partment Digby  came  to  the  same  perplexed 
official  and  said  she  must  sit  at  the  captain's 
right  hand  because  in  Washington  she  took 
precedence  over  everyone  else  on  board.  The 
bewildered  steward  confided  his  woes  to  the 
captain,  and  the  captain  said  he  would  attend  to 


i 


1 


■n-r 


\  I 


1 44 


XLbc  face  anD  tbe  Aaeli. 


k  li 


i    ' 


ii 


the  matter.  So  he  put  Mrs.  War-Department 
on  his  right  hand  and  then  walked  down  the 
deck  with  Mrs.  Assistant-Attorney  and  said  to 
her: 

"  I  want  to  ask  a  favor,  Mrs.  Brownrig.  Un- 
fortunately I  am  a  little  deaf  in  the  right  ear, 
caused,  I  presume,  by  listening  so  much  with 
that  ear  to  the  fog  horn  year  in  and  year  out. 
Now,  I  always  place  the  lady  whose  conversa- 
tion I  wish  most  to  enjoy  on  my  left  hand  at 
table.  Would  you  oblige  me  by  taking  that 
seat  this  voyage  ?  I  have  heard  of  you,  you  see, 
Mrs.  Brownrig,  although  you  have  never  crossed 
with  me  before." 

•'  Why,  certainly,  captain,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown- 
rig  ;  "  I  feel  especially  complimented." 

'  And  I  assure  you,  madam,"  said  the  polite 
captain,  "  that  I  would  not  for  the  world  miss  a 
single  word  that,"  etc. 

And  thus  it  was  amicably  arranged  between 
the  two  ladies.  All  this  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  story.  It  is  merely  an  incident 
given  to  show  what  a  born  diplomat  Capt.  Rice 
was  and  is  to  this  day.  I  don't  know  any  cap- 
tain more  popular  with  the  ladies  than  he,  and 
besides  he  is  as  good  a  sailor  as  crosses  the 
ocean. 

Day  by  day  the  good  ship  ploughed  her  way 
toward  the  east,  and  the  passengers  were  unan- 
imous in  saying  that  they  never  had  a  pleasanter 
voyage  for  that  time  of  the  year.  It  was  so 
warm  on  deck  that  many  steamer  chairs  were 
out,  and  below  it  was  so  mild  that  a  person 
mig'it  think  he  was  journeying  in  the  tropics. 
Yet  they  had  left  New  York  in  a  snow  storm 
with  the  thermometer  awav  below  zero. 

"  Such,"  said  young  Spinner,  who  knew 
everything, "  such  is  the  influence  of  the  Gulf 
Stream." 

Nevertheless  when  Capt.  Rice  came  down  to 


I — 


It'' 


way 

lan- 

ter 

so 

ere 

son 

ics. 

rm 

lew 
rulf 

to 


**'WIlbere  fflttorance  is  JBUaa."      ms 

lun'?h  the  fourth  day  out  his  face  was  haggard 
and  his  look  furtive  and  anxious. 

"  Why,  captain,"  cried  Ms.  Assistant- Attor- 
ney, you  look  as  if  you  hadn't  slept  a  wink  last 
night." 

*•  I  slept  very  well,  thank  you,  madam."  re- 
plied the  captain.     "  I  always  do." 

"  Well,  I  hope  your  room  was  more  comfor- 
table than  mine.  It  seemed  to  me  too  hot  for 
anything.     Didn't  you  find  it  so,  Mrs.  Digby  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  very  nice,"  replied  the  lady  at 
the  captain's  right,  who  generally  found  it  nec- 
essary to  take  an  opposite  view  from  the 
lady  at  the  left. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  captain,  "  we  have  many 
delicate  women  and  children  on  board  and  it  is 
necessary  to  keep  up  the  temperature.  Still, 
perhaps  the  man  who  attends  to  the  steam  rather 
overdoes  it.     I  will  speak  him." 

Then  the  captain  pushed  from  him  his  un- 
tasted  food  and  went  up  on  the  bridge,  casting 
his  eye  aloft  at  the  signal  waving  from  the 
masthead,  silently  calling  for  help  to  all  the 
empty  horizon. 

"  Nothing  in  sight,  Johnson  ?  "  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  Not  a  speck,  sir." 

The  captain  swept  the  circular  line  of  sea 
and  sky  with  his  glasses,  then  laid  them  down 
with  a  sigh. 

"  We  ought  to  raise  something  this  after- 
noon, sir,"  said  Johnson  ;  "  we  are  right  in  their 
track,  sir.  The  Fulda  ought  to  be  somewhere 
about." 

"  We  are  too  far  north  for  the  Fulda,  I  am 
afraid,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  Well,  sir,  we  should  see  the  Vulcan  before 
night,  sir.  She's  had  good  weather  from 
Queenstown." 

"  Yes.    Keep  a  sharp  lookout,  Johnson.' 


'i^ 


•> 


1 


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u 

1 

■?i 

1        i 

yc 

1   ^ 

i  ' 

^ 


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146 


Hbe  jface  atiD  tbe  Ubti0l{» 


"  Yes,  sir." 

The  captain  moodily  paced  'he  bridge  with 
his  head  down. 

"  1  ought  to  have  turned  back  to  New  York," 
he  said  to  himself. 

Then  he  went  down  to  his  own  room,  avoid- 
ing the  passengers  as  much  as  he  could,  and 
had  the  steward  bring  him  some  beef-tea. 
Kven  a  captain  cannot  live  on  anxiety. 

"  Steamer  off  the  port  bow,  sir,"  rang  out 
the  voice  of  the  lookout  at  the  prow.  The  man 
had  sharp  eyes,  for  a  landsman  could  have 
seen  nothing. 

"Run  and  tell  the  captain,"  cried  Johnson  to 
the  sailor  at  his  elbow,  but  as  the  sailor  turned 
the  captain's  head  appeared  up  the  stairway. 
He  seized  the  glass  and  looked  long  at  a  single 
point  in  the  horizon. 

"  It  must  be  the  Vulcan,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  I  think  so,  sir." 

"  Turn  your  wheel  a  few  points  to  port  and 
bear  down  on  her." 

Johnson  gave  the  necessary  order  and  the 
great  ship  veered  around. 

"  Hello  ! "  cried  Spinner,  on  deck.  "  Here's 
a  steamer.     I  found  her.     She's  mine." 

Then  there  was  a  rush  to  the  side  of  the  ship. 
•'  A  steamer  in  sight ! "  was  the  cry,  and  ail 
books  and  magazines  at  once  lost  interest. 
Even  the  placid,  dignified  Englishman  who  was 
so  uncommunicative,  ros?  ''"om  his  chair  and 
sent  his  servant  for  h  j  binocular.  Children 
were  held  up  and  told  to  be  careful,  while  they 
tried  to  see  the  dim  line  of  smoke  so  far 
ahead. 

"  Talk  about  lane  routes  at  sea,"  cried  young 
Spinner,  the  knowing.  "  Bosh,  I  say.  See ! 
we're  going  directly  for  her.  Think  what  it 
might  be  in  a  fog  !  Lane  routes  !  Pure  luck, 
I  call  it." 


**Wibcvc  ffinorancc  ie  JQliee.'*     147 


[ere  s 


they 
io  far 


roung 

See! 

lat  it 

luck, 


"  Will  \vt  signal  to  her,  Mr.  Spinner  ? " 
gently  askec4  the  young  lady  from  Boston. 

"Oh,  certainly,  '  answered  young  Spinner. 
'*  See  there's  our  signal  flying  from  the  mast- 
head now.  That  shows  them  what  line  we  be- 
long to." 

"  Dear  me,  how  interesting,"  said  the  young 
lady.  "  You  have  crossed  many  times,  I  sup- 
pose, Mr.  Spinner." 

"  Oh,  I  know  my  way  about,"  answered  the 
modest  Spinner. 

The  captain  kept  the  glasses  glued  to  his 
eyes.     Suddenly  he  almost  let  them  drop. 

"  My  God  !  Johnson,"  he  cried. 

"  What  is  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  S/te^s  flying  a  signal  of  distress,  /oo  /  " 

The  two  steamers  slowly ;  approached  each 
other  and,  when  nearly  alongside  and  about  a 
mile  apart,  the  bell  of  the  Adamant  rang  to 
stop. 

••  There,  you  see,"  said  young  Spinner  to  the 
Boston  girl,  "  she  is  flying  the  same  flag  at  her 
mastherd  that  we  are." 

"  Then  she  belongs  to  the  same  line  as  this 
boat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  answered  Mr.  Cock-Sure 
Spinner. 

"  Oh,  look !  look  !  look  ! "  cried  the  enthusi- 
astic Indianapolis  girl  who  was  going  to  take 
music  in  Germany. 

Everyone  looked  aloft  and  saw  running  up  to 
the  masthead  a  long  line  of  fluttering,  many- 
colored  flags.  They  remained  in  place  for  a 
few  moments  and  then  fluttered  down  again, 
only  to  give  place  to  a  different  fstring.  The 
same  thing  was  going  on  on  the  other  steamer. 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  interesting  for  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Assistant.  "  I  am  just  dying  to  know 
what  it  all  means.  I  have  read  of  it  so  often 
but  never  saw  it  before.     I  wonder  when  the 


) 


\l: 


i- 


148 


XLbc  face  and  tbe  ASasfi* 


fr 


captain  will  come  down.  What  does  it  all 
mean  ?  "  she  asked  the  deck  steward. 

"  They  are  signalling  to  each  other,  madam." 

"  Oh,  I  know  Ma/.  But  what  are  they  sig- 
nalling ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  madam." 

"  Oh,  see  !  see ! "  cried  the  Indianapolis  girl, 
clapping  her  hands  with  delight.  "  The  other 
steamer  is  turning  round." 

It  was  indeed  so.  The  great  ship  was 
thrashing  the  water  with  her  screw,  and  gradu- 
ally the  masts  came  in  line  and  then  her  prow 
faced  the  east  again.  When  this  had  been 
slowly  accomplished  the  bell  on  the  Adamant 
rang  full  speed  ahead,  and  then  the  captain 
came  slowly  down  the  ladder  that  led  from  the 
bridge. 

"  Oh,  captain,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

"Is  she  going  back,  captain.^  Nothing 
wrong,  I  hope." 

"  What  ship  is  it,  captain  }  " 

"  She  belongs  to  our  line,  doesn't  she  ?  " 

"  Why  is  she  going  back  ?  " 

"  The  ship,"  said  the  captain  slowly,  is  the 
Vulcan,  of  the  Black  Bowling  Line,  that  left 
Queenstown  shortly  after  we  left  New  York. 
She  has  met  with  an  accident.  Ran  into  some 
wreckage,  it  is  thought,  fr  jm  the  recent  storm. 
Anyhow  there  is  a  hole  in  her,  and  whether 
she  sees  Queenstown  or  not  will  depend  a  great 
deal  on  what  weather  we  have  and  whether 
her  bulkheads  hold  out.  We  will  stand  by  her 
till  we  reach  Queenstown." 

•'  Are  there  many  on  board,  do  you  think, 
captain  ?  " 

"  There  are  thirty-seven  in  the  cabin  and 
over  800  steerage  passengers,"  answered  the 
captain. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  them  on  board,  out  of 
danger,  captain  ?  " 


IH    H 


44 


TRnberc  fgnorance  iB  Miee.**     149 


1-  > ;! 


all 


think, 


"  Ah,  madam,  there  is  no  need  to  do  that. 
It  would  delay  us,  and  time  is  everything  in  a 
case  like  this.  Besides,  they  will  have  ample 
tvarning  if  she  is  going  down  and  they  will 
have  time  to  get  everybody  in  the  boats.  We 
will  stand  by  them,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  the  poor  creatures,"  cried  the  sympa- 
thetic Mrs.  Second- Adjutant.  "Think  of 
their  awful  position.  May  be  engulfed  at  any 
moment.  I  suppose  they  are  all  on  their  knees 
in  the  cabin.  How  thankful  they  must  have 
been  to  see  the  Adamant." 

On  all  sides  there  was  the  profoundest  sym- 
pathy for  the  unfortunate  passengers  of  the 
Vulcan.  Cheeks  paled  at  the  very  thought  of 
the  catastrophe  that  might  take  place  at  any 
moment  within  sight  of  the  sister  ship.  It  was 
a  realistic  object  lesson  on  the  ever-present 
dangers  of  the  sea.  While  those  on  deck 
looked  with  new  interest  at  the  steamship 
plunging  along  within  a  mile  of  them,  the  cap- 
tain slipped  away  to  his  room.  As  he  sat  there 
there  was  a  tap  at  his  door. 

*'  Come  in,"  shouted  the  captain. 

The  silent  Englishman  slowly  entered. 

"  What's  wrong,  captain,"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  the  Vulcan  has  had  a  hole  stove  in  her 
and  I  signalled " 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,  of  course,  but  what's 
wrong  w/M  us?" 

••  With  us  ?  "  echoed  the  captain  blankly. 

"  Yes,  with  the  Adamant  ?  What  has  been 
amiss  for  the  last  two  or  three  days.^  I'm  not 
a  talker,  nor  am  I  afraid  any  more  than  you 
are,  but  I  want  to  know." 

'•  Certainly,"  said  the  captain.     "  Please  shut 

the  door,  Sir  John." 

♦  *  ♦  ♦  41  ♦ 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  lively  row  on  board 
the  Vulcan.     In  the  saloon   Capt.   Flint  was 


t 


,;( 


, 

' 

f       f 

.i 

i 

• 

^ 

t       '" 


ISO 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbe  ^asli* 


M      !' 


T't 


Standing  at  bay  with  his  knuckles  on  the 
table. 

"  Now  what  the  devil's  the  meaning  of  all 
this?"  cried  Adam  K.  Vincent,  member  of 
Congress. 

A  crowd  of  frightened  women  were  standing 
around,  many  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  Chil- 
dren clung,  with  pale  faces,  to  their  mother's 
skirts,  fearing  they  knew  not  what.  Men  were 
grouped  with  anxious  faces,  and  the  bluff  old 
captain  fronted  them  all. 

"  The  meaning  of  all  what,  sir  }  " 

"  You  know  very  well.  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  our  turning-round  ?  " 

"  It  means,  sir,  that  the  Adamant  has  eighty- 
five  saloon  passengers  and  nearly  500  interme- 
diate and  steerage  passengers  who  are  in  the 
most  deadly  danger.  The  cotton  in  the  hold 
is  on  fire,  and  they  have  been  fighting  it  night 
and  day.  A  conflagatinn  may  break  out  at  any 
moment.  It  means,  then,  sir,  that  the  Vulcan 
is  going  to  stand  by  the  Adamant." 

A  wail  of  anguish  burst  from  the  frightened 
women  at  the  awful  fate  that  might  be  in  store 
for  so  many  human  beings  so  near  to  them, 
and  they  clung  closer  to  their  children  and 
thanked  God  that  no  such  danger  threatened 
them  and  those  dear  to  them. 

"  And  dammit,  sir,"  cried  the  Congressman, 
"do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  we  have  to  go 
against  our  will — without  even  being  consulted — 
back  to  Queenstown  }  " 

"  I  mean  to  tell  you  so,  sir." 

*'  Well,  by  the  gods,  that's  an  outrage,  and  I 
won't  stand  it,  sir.  I  must  be  in  New  York 
by  the  27th.     I  won't  stand  it,  sir." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  that  anybody  should 
be  delaved." 

"  Delayed }  Hang  it  all,  why  don't  you 
take  the  people  on  board  and  take  'em   to  New 


^ 


**  THIlbcre  ITgnorancf  is  asilss."       151 

York?  I  protest  against  this.  I'll  bring  a 
lawsuit  against  tiie  company,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Vincent,"  said  the  captain  sternly, 
"  permit  me  to  remind  you  that  /am  captain  of 
this  ship.     Good  afternoon,  sir." 

The  Congressman  departed  from  the  saloon 
exceeding  wroth,  breathing  dire  threats  of  legel 
proceedings  against  the  line  and  the  captain 
personally,  but  most  of  the  passengers  agreed 
that  it  would  be  an  inhuman  thing  to  leave  the 
Adamant  alone  in  mid-ocean  in  such  terrible 
straits. 

"  Why  didn't  they  turn  back,  Captain  Flint  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  General  Weller. 

"  Because,  madam,  every  moment  is  of  value 
in  such  a  case,  and  we  are  nearer  Queenstown 
than  New  York." 

And  so  the  two  steamships,  side  by  side, 
worried  their  way  toward  the  east,  always 
within  sight  of  each  other  by  day,  and  with  the 
rows  of  lights  in  each  visible  at  night  to  the 
sympathetic  souls  on  the  other.  The  '  welter- 
ing men  poured  water  into  the  hold  of  the  one 
and  the  pounding  pumps  poured  water  out  of 
the  hold  of  the  other,  and  thus  they  reached 
Queenstown. 

On  board  the  tender  that  took  the  passen- 
gers ashore  at  Queenstown  from  both  steamers 
two  astonished  women  met  each  other. 

*'  Why !  Mrs. —Genera/— Weller  !  I !  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  were  on  board  that  un- 
fortunate Vulcan  !  ' 

"  For  the  land's  sake,  Mrs  Assistant  Brown- 
rig  !  Is  that  really /i?//?  Will  wonders  never 
cease  ?  Unfortunate,  did  you  say  ?  Mightily 
fortunate  for  you,  I  think.  Why !  weren't  you 
just  frightened  to  death  ?  " 

♦'  I  was,  but  I  had  no  idea  anyone  I  knew 
was  on  board." 


■t 


I)  > 


1  '. 


\    i 


n 


152 


Zbc  S'ace  and  tbe  /basfi. 


;M  i. 


%,  ill 


"  Well,  you  were  on  board  yourself.  That 
would  have  been  enough  to  have  killed  me." 

"  On  board  myself  ?  Why,  what  c/o  you 
mean  ?  I  wasn't  on  board  the  Vulcan.  Did 
you  get  any  sleep  at  all  after  you  knew  you 
might  go  down  at  any  moment  ?  " 

"  My  sakes,  Jane,  what  are  you  talking 
about  f  Down  at  any  moment  ?  It  was  you 
that  might  have  gone  down  at  any  moment  or, 
worse  still,  have  been  burnt  to  death  if  the  fire 
had  got  ahead.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
didn't  know  the  Adamant  was  on  fire  most  of 
the  way  across  ?  " 

"  Mrs. — General —  Welter  !  !  There's  some 
horrible  mistake.  It  was  the  Vulcan.  Every- 
thing depended  on  her  bulkheads,  the  captam 
said.  There  was  a  hole  as  big  as  a  barn  door 
in  the  Vulcan.  The  pumps  ^were  going  night 
and  day." 

Mrs.  General  looked  at  Mrs.  Assistant  as  the 
light  began  to  dawn  on  both  of  them. 

'*  Then  it  wasn't  the  engines,  but  the  pumps/* 
she  said. 

"  And  it  wasn't  the  steam,  but  the  fire," 
screamed  Mrs.  Assistant.  "  Oh,  dear,  how 
that  captain  lied,  and  I  thought  him  such  a  nice 
man,  too.  Oh,  I  shall  go  into  hysterics,  1  know 
I  shall." 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  sensible 
Mrs.  General,  who  was  a  strong-minded  wo- 
man ;  "  besides,  it  is  too  late.  We're  all  safe 
now.  I  think  both  captains  were  pretty  sensi- 
ble men.    Evidently  married,  both  of  'em." 

Which  was  quite  true. 


't 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  CUB 
MCLEAN. 

Of  course  no  one  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  Mellish  was  in  every  respect,  except  one, 
an  exemplary  citizen  and  a  good-hearted  man. 
He  was  generous  to  a  faull  and  he  gave  many 
a  young  fellow  a  start  in  life  where  a  little 
money  or  ajfew  encouraging  words  were  needed. 
He  drank,  of  course,  but  he  was  a  connoisseur 
in  liquors,  and  a  connoisseur  never  goes  in  for 
excess.  Few  could  tell  a  humorous  story  as 
well  as  Mellish,  and  he  seldom  dealt  in  chest- 
nuts. No  man  can  be  wholly  bad  who  never 
inflicts  an  old  story  on  his  friends,  locating  it  on 
some  acquaintance  of  his,  and  alleging  that  it 
occurred  the  day  before. 

If  I  wished  to  write  a  heart-rending  article 
on  the  evils  of  gambling,  Mellish  would  be  the 
man  I  would  go  to  for  my  facts  and  for  the  moral 
of  the  tale.  He  spent  his  life  persuading  peo- 
ple not  to  gamble.  He  never  gambled  himself, 
he  said.  But  if  no  attention  was  paid  to  his 
advice,  why  then  he  furnished  gamblers  with 
the  most  secluded  and  luxurious  gambling 
rooms  in  the  city.  It  was  supposed  that  Mell- 
ish stood  in  with  the  police,  which  was,  of 
course,  a  libel.  The  ider  of  the  guardians  of 
the  city  standing  in  wir:h  a  gambler  or  a  gam- 
bling house  !  The  statement  was  absurd  on 
the  face  of  it.  If  you  asked  any  policeman  in 
the  city  where  Mellish's  gambling  rooms  were,, 
you  would  speedily  learn  that  not  one  of  them 
had  ever  even  heard  of  the  place.    All  this  goes 


I 


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to  show  how  scandalously  people  will  ta^k,  and 
if  Mellish's  rooms  were  free  from  raidj,  it  was 
merely  Mellish's  good  luck,  that  was  all.  Any- 
how, in  Mellish's  rooms  you  could  have  a  quiet, 
gentlemanly  game  for  stakes  about  as  high  as 
you  cared  to  go,  and  you  were  reasonably  sure 
there  would  be  no  fuss  and  that  your  name 
would  not  appear  in  the  papers  next  morning. 

One  night  as  Mellish  cast  his  eye  around  his 
well-filled  main  room  he  noticed  a  stranger  sit- 
ting at  the  roulette  table.  Mellish  had  a  keen 
eye  for  strangers  and  in  an  unobtrusive  way 
generally  managed  to  find  out  something  about 
them.  A  stranger  in  a  gambling  room  brings 
in  with  him  a  certain  sense  of  danger  to  the 
habitues. 

"  Who  is  that  boy  ?  "  whispered  Mellish  to 
his  bartender,  generally  known  as  Sotty,  an 
ex-prize  fighter  and  a  dangerous  man  to  handle 
if  it  came  to  trouble.  It  rarely  came  to  trouble 
there,  but  Sotty  was,  in  a  measure,  the  silent 
symbol  of  physical  force,  backing  the  well- 
known  mild  morality  of  Mellish. 

♦•  I  don't  know  him,"  answered  Sotty. 

"  Whom  did  he  come  in  with  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  him  come  in.  Hadn't  noticed 
him  till  now." 

Mellish  looked  at  the  boy  for  a  few  minutes. 
He  had  the  fresh,  healthy,  smooth  face  of  a  lad 
from  the  country,  and  he  seemed  strangely  out 
of  place  in  the  heated  atmosphere  of  that  room, 
under  the  glare  of  the  gas.  Mellish  sighed  as 
he  looked  at  him,  then  he  turned  to  Sotty  and 
said  : 

"  Just  get  him  away  quietly  and  bring  him  to 
the  small  poker  room.  I  want  to  have  a  few 
words  with  him." 

Sotty,  who  had  the  utmost  contempt  for  the 
humanitarian  feelings  of  his  boss,  said  nothing, 
but  a  look  of  disdain  swept  over  his  florid  feat- 


H     I 


^be  S>cparture  ot  Cub  AcXean.     155 


inutes. 
a  lad 
ly  out 
room, 

led  as 
y  and 


ures  as  he  went  on  his  mission.  If  he  had  his 
way,  he  would  not  throw  even  a  sprat  out  of 
the  net.  Many  a  time  he  had  known  Mellish  to 
persuade  a  youngster  with  more  money  than 
brains  to  go  home,  giving  orders  at  the  double 
doors  that  he  was  not  to  be  admitted  again. 

The  young  man  rose  with  a  look  of  some- 
thing like  consternation  on  his  face  and  fol- 
lowed Sotty.  The  thing  was  done  quietly,  and 
all  those  around  the  tables  were  too  much  ab- 
sorbed in  the  game  to  pay  much  attention. 

'•  Look  here,  my  boy,"  said  Mellish,  when 
they  were  alone,  *'  who  brought  you  to  this 
place  ?  " 

"  I  guess,"  said  the  lad,  with  an  expression 
of  resentment,  "  I'm  old  enough  to  go  where  I 
like  without  being  brought." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  said  Mellish,  diplo- 
matically, knowing  how  much  very  young  men 
dislike  being  accused  of  youth,  "  but  I  like  to 
know  all  visitors  here.  You  couldn't  get  in 
unless  you  came  with  someone  known  at  the 
door.     Who  vouched  for  you  ?  " 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Mellish,"  said  the  youth  an- 
grily, "  what  are  you  driving  at .?  If  your  door- 
keepers don't  know  their  own  business  why 
don't  you  speak  to  them  about  it  ?  Are  you 
going  to  have  me  turned  out  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mellish,  Sooth- 
ingly, putting  his  hand  in  a  fatherly  manner  on 
the  young  fellow's  shoulder.  "  Don't  mistake 
my  meaning.  The  fact  that  you  are  here  shows 
that  you  have  a  right  to  be  here.  We'll  say  no 
more  about  that.  But  you  take  my  advice  and 
quit  the  business  here  and  now.  I  was  a  gam- 
bler before  you  were  born,  although  I  don't 
gamble  any  more.  Take  the  advice  of  a  man 
who  knows.     It  doesn't  pay." 

"  It  seems  to  have  paid  you  reasonably  well." 

"Oh,  I  don't  complain.     It  has   its  ups  and 


;  1 


^l 


■ 


>.»   ,.  , 


■     1     ^ 


n 

'  I- 


i/Afl 


156 


(Tbe  face  and  tbe  Aash* 


mm 


It 


downs  like  all  businesses.  Still,  it  doesn't  pay 
me  nearly  as  well  as  perhaps  you  think,  and 
you  can  take  my  word  that  m  the  long  run  it 
won't  pay  you  at  all.  How  much  money  have 
you  got?  " 

"  Enough  to  pay  if  I  lose,"  said  the  boy  im- 
pudently; then  seeing  the  look  of  pain  that 
passed  over  Mellish's  face,  he  added  more  civilly : 

"  I  have  three  or  four  hundred  dollars." 

"  Well,  take  my  advice  and  go  home.  You'll 
be  just  that  much  better  off  in  the  morning." 

'*  What !  Don't  you  play  a  square  game 
here  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  play  a  square  game  here,"  an- 
swered Mellish  with  indignation.  "Do  you 
think  I  am  a  card-sharper  ?  " 

"  You  seem  so  cock-sure  I'll  lose  my  money 
that  I  was  just  wondering.  Now,  I  can  afford 
to  lose  all  the  money  I've  got  and  not  feel  it. 
Are  you  going  to  allow  me  to  play,  or  are  you 
going  to  chuck  me  out  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  can  play  if  you  want  to.  But  don't 
come  whining  to  me  when  you  lose.  I've 
warned  you." 

"  I'm  notawhiner,"  said  the  young  fellow; 
*'  I  take  my  medicine  like  a  man." 

**  Right  you  are,"  said  Mellish  with  a  sigh. 
He  realized  that  this  fellow,  young  as  he  looked, 
was  probably  deeper  in  vice  than  his  appear- 
ance mdicated  and  he  knew  the  uselessness  of 
counsel  in  such  a  case.  They  went  into  the 
main  room  together  and  the  boy,  abandoning 
roulette,  began  to  play  at  one  of  the  card  tables 
for  ever-increasing  stakes.  Mellish  kept  an  eye 
on  him  for  a  time.  The  boy  was  having  the 
luck  of  most  beginners.  He  played  a  reckless 
game  and  won  hand  over  fist.  As  one  man 
had  enough  and  rose  from  the  table  another 
eagerly  took  his  place,  but  there  was  no  break  in 
the  boy's  winnings. 


1u!li 


^be  2)epatture  of  Cub  AScXean.      157 


Pony  Rowell  was  always  late  in  arriving  at 
the  gambling  rooms.  On  this  occasion  he  en- 
tered, irreproachably  dresied,  and  with  the 
quiet,  gentlemanly  demeanor  habitual  with  him. 
The  professional  gambler  was  never  known  to 
lose  his  temper.  When  displeased  he  became 
quieter,  if  possible,  than  before.  The  only 
sign  of  inward  anger  was  a  mark  like  an  old 
scar  which  extended  from  his  right  temple,  be- 
ginning over  the  eye  and  disappearing  in  his 
closely-cropped  hair  behind  the  ear.  This  line 
became  an  angry  red  that  stood  out  against  the 
general  pallor  of  his  face  when  things  were  go- 
ing in  a  way  that  did  not  please  him.  He  spoke 
in  a  low  tone  to  Mellish. 

"  What's  the  excitement  down  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  ?  Every  one  seems  congre- 
gated there." 

"  Oh,"  answered  Mellish,  "  it's  a  boy — a 
stranger — who  is  having  the  devil's  own  luck  at 
the  start.     It  will  be  the  ruin  of  him." 

"  Is  he  playing  high  ?  " 

**  High  ?  I  should  say  so.  He's  perfectly 
reckless.  He'll  be  brought  up  with  a  sharp 
turn  and  will  borrow  money  from  me  to  get  out 
of  town.     I've  seen  a  flutter  like  that  before." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Pony  tranquilly,  "  I 
must  have  a  go  at  him.  I  like  to  tackle  a  young- 
ster in  the  first  flush  of  success,  especially  if  he 
is  plunging." 

"  You  will  soon  have  a  chance,"  answered 
Mellish,  "  for  even  Ragstock  knows  when  he 
has  enough.  He  will  get  up  in  a  moment.  I 
know  the  signs." 

With  the  air  of  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  some- 
what tired  of  the  frivolities  of  this  world,  Rowell 
made  his  way  slowly  to  the  group.  As  he  looked 
over  their  shoulders  at  the  boy  a  curious  glitter 
came  into  his  piercing  eyes,  and  his  lips,  usually 
so  well  under  control,  tightened.    The  red  mark 


» 


I'   » ■ 


f>. 


h 


I 


rr    I 


II 


153 


Cbc  ifacc  anD  tbc  jfl&asli. 


began  to  come  out  as  his  face  paled.  It  was 
evident  that  he  did  not  intend  to  speak  and  that 
he  was  about  to  move  away  again,  but  the  mag- 
netism of  his  Iveen  glance  seemed  to  disturb 
the  player,  who  suddenly  looked  up  over  the 
head  of  his  opponent  and  met  the  stern  gaze  of 
Rowell. 

The  boy  did  three  things.  He  placed  his 
cards  face  downward  on  the  table,  put  his  right 
hand  over  the  pile  of  money,  and  moved  his 
chair  back. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  cried  Rag- 
stock. 

The  youth  ignored  the  question,  still  keeping 
his  eyes  on  Rowell. 

"  Do  you  squeal  ?  "  he  asked, 

"  I  squeal,"  said  Pony,  whatever  the  question 
and  answer  might  mean.  Then  Rowel!  cried, 
slightly  raising  his  voice  so  that  all  might 
hear: 

"  This  man  is  Cub  McLean,  the  most  notori- 
ous card-sharper,  thief,  and  murderer  in  the 
west.     He  couldn't  play  straight  if  he  tried." 

McLean  laughed.  "  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  and  if 
you  want  to  see  my  trademark  look  at  the  side 
of  Greggs*  face." 

Every  man  looked  at  Pony,  learning  for  the 
first  time  that  he  had  gone  under  a  different 
name  at  some  period  of  his  life. 

During  the  momentary  distraction  McLean 
swept  the  money  off  the  table  and  put  it  in  his 
pockets. 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  Ragstock,  seemingly  not 
quite  understanding  the  situation.  "  You 
haven't  won  that  yet." 

Again  McLean  laughed. 

"  It  would  have  been  the  same  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

He  jumped  up,  scattering  the  crowd  behind 
him. 


ZTbc  Departure  ot  Cub  /DbcXean.    159 

"  Look  to  the  doors,"  cried  Pony.  •'  Don't 
let  this  man  out." 

McLean  had  his  back  to  the  wall.  From 
under  his  coat  he  whipped  two  revolvers  which 
he  held  out,  one  in  each  hand. 

"  You  ought  to  know  me  better  than  that, 
Greggs,"  he  said,  "  do  you  want  me  to  have 
another  shot  at  you  }  I  won't  miss  this  time. 
Drop  that." 

The  last  command  was  given  in  a  ringing 
voice  that  attracted  every  one's  attention  to 
Sotty.  He  had  picked  up  a  revolver  from 
somewhere  behind  the  bar  and  had  come  out 
with  it  in  his  hand.  McLean's  eye  seemed  to 
take  in  every  motion  in  the  room  and  he  in- 
stantly covered  the  bartender  with  one  of  the 
pistols  as  he  gave  the  command. 

"  Drop  it,"  said  Mellish.  "  There  must  be  no 
shooting.  You  may  go  quietly.  No  one  will 
interfere  with  you." 

"  You  bet  your  sweet  life  they  won't,"  said 
McLean  with  a  laugh. 

"  Gentlemen,"  continued  Mellish,  "  the  house 
will  stand  the  loss.  If  I  allow  a  swindler  in  my 
rooms  it  is  but  right  that  I  alone  should  suffer. 
Now  you  put  up  your  guns  and  walk  out." 

"  Good  old  Mellish,"  sneered  McLean,  "  you 
ought  to  be  running  a  Sunday-school." 

Notwithstanding  the  permission  to  depart  Mc- 
Lean did  not  relax  his  precautions  for  a  mo- 
ment. His  shoulders  scraped  their  way  along 
the  wall  as  he  gradually  worked  towards  the 
door.  He  kept  Pony  covered  with  his  left  hand 
while  the  polished  barrel  of  the  revolver  in  his 
right  seemed  to  have  a  roving  commission 
all  over  the  room,  to  the  nervous  dread  of 
many  respectable  persons  who  cowered  within 
range.  When  he  reached  the  door  he  said  to 
Pony : 

"  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Greggs,  but  this  is 


1    I 


>rtl 


'1^ 


i6o 


^be  ^ace  and  tbe  Aaaft. 


too  good  an  opportunity  to  miss.  I'm  going  to 
kill  you  in  your  tracks.' 

"  That's  about  your  size,"  said  Pony  putting 
his  hands  behind  him  and  standing  in  his  place, 
while  those  near  him  edged  away.  "  I'm  un- 
armed, so  it  is  perfectly  safe.  You  will  insure 
your,  arrest  so  blaze  away." 

"  Dodge  under  the  table,  then,  and  I  will 
spare  you." 

Pony  invited  him  to  take  up  his  abode  in 
tropical  futurity. 

Cub  laughed  once  more  good  naturedly,  and 
lowered  the  muzzle  of  his  revolver.  As  he 
shoved  back  his  soft  felt  hat,Mellish,  who  stood 
nearest  him,  saw  that  the  hair  on  his  temples 
was  grey.  Lines  of  anxiety  had  come  into  his 
apparently  youthful  face  as  he  had  scraped  his 
way  along  the  wall. 

"Good-night,  all,"  he  shouted  back  from  the 
stairway. 


:   .  \    f' 


Mil 


i  ;■. 


OLD  NUMBER  EIGHTY-SIX. 


i'4 


John  Saggart  stood  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
terminus,  out  of  the  rays  of  the  glittering  arc 
lamps,  and  watched  engine  Number  Eiglity-six. 
The  engineer  was  oiling  her,  and  the  fireman, 
as  he  opened  the  furnace-door  and  shovelled  in 
the  coal,  stood  out  like  a  red  Rembrandt  picture 
in  the  cab  against  the  darkness  beyond.  As 
the  engineer  with  his  oil  can  went  carefully 
around  Number  Eighty-six,  John  Saggart  drew 
his  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  a  gulp  came  up 
his  throat.  He  knew  every  joint  and  bolt  in 
that  contrary  old  engine — the  most  cantanker- 
ous iron  brute  on  the  road — and  yet,  if  rightly 
managed,  one  of  the  swiftest  and  most  power- 
ful machines  the  company  had,  notwithstand- 
ing the  many  improvements  that  had  been  put 
upon  locomotives  since  old  Eighty-six  had  left 
the  foundry. 

Saggart,  as  he  stood  there,  thought  of  the 
seven  years  he  had  spent  on  the  fool-board  of 
old  Eighty-six,  and  of  the  many  tricks  she  had 
played  him  during  that  period.  If,  as  the  poet  ' 
says,  the  very  chains  and  the  prisoner  become 
friends  through  long  association,  it  may  be 
imagined  how  much  of  a  man's  affection  goes 
out  to  a  machine  that  he  thoroughly  understands 
and  likes — a  machine  that  is  his  daily  compan- 
ion for  years,  in  danger  and  out  of  it.  Number 
Eighty-six  and  John  had  been  in  many  a  close 
pinch  together,  and  at  this  moment  the  man 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  often  the  pinch 


tiiT 


^1 


1 62 


Zbc  jfacc  anD  tbe  /Bbasfi. 


•I  ^■•i 


f  !\ 


f:  J  ^;i 


was  caused  by  the  pure  cussedness  of  Eighty- 
six  herself,  and  he  remembered  only  that  she 
had  bravely  done  her  part  several  times  when 
the  situation  was  exceedingly  serious. 

The  cry  "  All  aboard  "  rang  out  and  was 
echoed  down  from  the  high-arched  roof  of  the 
great  termmus,  and  John  with  a  sigh  turned 
from  his  contemplation  of  the  engine,  and  went 
to  take  his  seat  in  the  car.  It  was  a  long  train 
with  many  sleeping-cars  at  the  end  of  it.  The 
engineer  had  put  away  his  oil-can,  and  had 
taken  his  place  on  the  engine,  standing  ready 
to  begin  the  long  journey  at  the  moment  the 
signal  was  given. 

John  Saggart  climbed  into  the  smoking-car- 
riage at  the  front  part  of  the  train.  He  found 
a  place  in  one  of  the  forward  seats,  and  sank 
down  into  it  with  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness 
at  being  inside  the  coach  instead  of  on  the 
engine.  He  gazed  out  of  the  window  and  saw 
the  glittering  electric  lights  slide  slowly  be- 
hind, then,  more  quickly,  the  red,  green,  and 
white  lights  of  the  signal  lamps,  and  finally 
there  flickered  sv^'iftly  past  the  brilliant  constel- 
lation of  city  windows,  showing  that  the  town 
had  not  yet  gone  to  bed.  At  last  the  flying 
train  plunged  into  the  country,  and  Saggart 
pressed  his  face  against  the  cold  glass  of  the 
f  window,  unable  to  shake  off  his  feeling  of  re- 
sponsibility, although  he  knew  there  was 
another  man  at  the  throttle. 

He  was  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  a  touch 
on  the  shoulder,  and  a  curt  request,  "  Tickets, 
please." 

He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  pass,  and 
turned  to  hand  it  to  the  conductor  who  stood 
there  with  a  glittering,  plated,  and  crystal  lan- 
tern on  his  arm. 

*•  Hello,  John,  is  this  you  ?  "  cried  the  con- 
ductor, as  soon  as  he  saw  the  face.    "  Hang  it, 


i-tiv 


'  J 


!    was 

touch 
ickets, 

and 
stood 
i\  Ian- 


^L'!-  I.     -w- 


' 


Olt>  Dumber  leiQbt^^eix* 


163 


man,  you  didn't  need  a  pass  in  travelling  with 
me." 

"  They  gave  it  to  me  to  take  me  home,"  said 
Saggart,  a  touch  of  sadness  in  his  voice,  "  and  I 
may  as  well  use  it  as  not.  I  don't  want  to  get 
you  into  trouble." 

"  Oh,  I'd  risk  the  trouble,"  said  the  conductor, 
placing  the  lantern  on  the  floor  and  taking  his 
seat  beside  the  engineer.  "  I  heard  about  your 
worry  to-day.  It's  too  bad.  If  a  man  had  got 
drunk  at  his  post,  as  you  and  I  have  known 
'em  to  do,  it  wouldn't  have  seemed  so  hard  ; 
but  at  its  worst  your  case  was  only  an  error  of 
judgment,  and  then  nothing  really  happened. 
Old  Eighty-six  seems  to  have  the  habit  of  pull- 
ing herself  through.  I  suppose  you  and  she 
have  been  in  worse  fixes  than  that,  with  not  a 
word  said  about  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  John,  "  we've  been  in  many  a 
tieht  place  together,  but  we  won't  be  any  more. 
It  s  rough,  as  you  say.  I've  been  fifteen  years 
with  the  company,  and  seven  on  old  Eighty-six, 
and  at  first  it  comes  mighty  hard.  But  I  sup- 
pose I'll  get  used  to  it." 

"  Look  here,  John,"  said  the  conductor,  low- 
ering his  voice  to  a  confidential  tone,  "  the 
president  of  the  road  is  with  us  to-night ;  his 
private  car  is  the  last  but  one  on  the  train.  How 
would  it  do  to  speak  to  him  ?  If  you  are  afraid 
to  tackle  him,  I'll  put  in  a  word  for  you  in  a 
minute,  and  tell  him  your  side  of  the  story." 

John  Saggart  shook  his  head. 

"  It  wouldn't  do,"  he  said ;  '•  he  wouldn't 
overrule  what  one  of  his  subordinates  had  done, 
unless  there  was  serious  injustice  in  the  case. 
It's  the  new  manager,  you  know.  There's  al- 
ways trouble  with  a  new  manager.  He  sweeps 
v^iCan.  And  I  suppose  that  he  thinks  by  *  bounc- 
ing '  one  of  the  oldest  engineers  on  the  road,  he 
will  scare  the  rest." 


* 


^^9} 


i 


:i'. 


41 


lis  i'i'f  ' 


i  I 


^\ 


164 


XLbc  ^ace  an^  tbe  Aasfi. 


"  Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  him  between 
ourselves,"  said  the  conductor.  '•  What  do  you 
think  he  has  done  to-night  ?  He's  put  a  new 
man  on  Eighty-six.  A  man  from  one  of  the 
branch  lines  who  doesn't  know  the  road.  I 
doubt  if  he's  ever  been  over  the  main  line  be- 
fore. Now,  it's  an  anxious  enough  time  for 
me  anyhow  with  a  heavy  train  to  take  through, 
with  the  thermometer  at  zero,  and  the  rails  like 
glass,  arii  I  like  to  have  a  man  in  front  that  I 
can  depend  on." 

"  It's  bad  enough  not  to  know  the  road,"  said 
John  gloomily,  "  but  it's  worse  not  to  know  old 
Eighty-six.    She's  a  brute  if  she  takes  a  notion." 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  another  engine  that 
could  draw  this  train  and  keep  her  time,"  said 
the  conductor. 

"  No !  She'll  do  her  work  all  right  if  you'll 
only  humor  her,"  admitted  Saggart,  who  could 
not  conceal  his  love  for  the  engine  even  while 
he  blamed  her. 

"  Well,"  said  the  conductor,  rising  and  pick- 
ing up  his  lantern,  "  the  man  in  front  may  be  all 
right,  but  I  would  feel  safer  if  you  were  further 
ahead  than  the  smoker.  Tm  sorry  I  can't  offer 
you  a  berth  to-night,  John,  but  we're  full  clear 
through  to  the  rear  lights.  There  isn't  even  a 
vacant  upper  on  the  train." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  Saggart.  "  I 
couldn't  sleep,  anyhow.  I'd  rather  sit  here  and 
look  out  of  the  window." 

"  Well,  so  long,"  said  the  conductor.  "  I'll 
drop  in  and  see  you  as  the  night  passes  on." 

Saggart  lit  his  pipe  and  gazed  out  into  dark- 
ness. He  knew  every  inch  of  the  road — all  the 
up  grades  and  the  down  grades  and  the  levels. 
He  knew  it  even  better  in  the  murkiest  night 
than  in  the  clearest  day.  Now  and  then  the 
black  bulk  of  a  barn  or  a  clump  of  trees  showed 
for  one  moment  against  the  sky,  and  Saggart 


I 


0\t>  mumber  lEiQbt^^eU, 


i6s 


•I 

and 

I'll 


would  say  to  himself,  "  Now  he  should  shut  off 
an  inch  of  steam,"  or,  "  Now  he  should  throw 
her  wide  open."  The  train  made  few  stops, 
but  he  saw  that  they  were  losing  time.  Eighty- 
six  was  sulking,  very  likely.  Thinking  of  the 
engine  turned  his  mind  to  his  own  fate.  No 
man  was  of  very  much  use  in  the  world,  after 
all,  for  the  moment  he  steps  down  another  is 
ready  to  stand  in  his  place.  The  wise  men  in 
the  city  who  had  listened  to  his  defence  knew 
so  well  that  an  engine  was  merely  a  combina- 
tion of  iron  and  steel  and  brass,  and  that  a 
given  number  of  pounds  of  steam  would  get  it 
over  a  given  number  of  miles  in  a  given  number 
of  hours,  and  they  had  smiled  incredulously 
when  he  told  them  that  an  engine  had  her  tan- 
trums, and  informed  them  that  sometimes  she 
had  to  be  coddled  up  like  any  other  female. 
Even  when  a  man  did  his  best  there  were  occa- 
sions when  nothing  he  could  do  would  mollify 
her,  and  then  there  was  sure  to  be  trouble, 
although,  he  added,  in  his  desire  to  be  fair,  she 
was  always  sorry  for  it  afterward.  Which  re- 
mark, to  his  confusion,  had  turned  the  smile 
into  a  laugh. 

He  wondered  what  Eighty-six  thought  of  the 
new  man.  Not  much,  evidently,  for  she  was 
losing  time,  which  she  had  no  business  to  do 
on  that  section  of  the  road.  Still  it  might  be 
the  fault  of  the  new  man  not  knowing  when  to 
push  her  for  all  she  was  worth  and  when  to 
ease  up.  All  these  things  go  to  the  making  of 
time.  But  it  was  more  than  probable  that  old 
Eighty-six,  like  Gilpin's  horse,  was  wondering 
more  and  more  what  thing  upon  her  back  had 
gof  '•  He'll  have  trouble,"  muttered  John  to 
himself,  "  when  she  finds  out." 

The  conductor  came  in  again  and  sat  down 
beside  the  engineer.  He  said  nothing,  but  sat 
there  sorting  his  tickets,  while  Saggart   gazed 


fi 


*  >i 


i 


it 


i66 


^be  Jface  and  tbe  AaeTi* 


'I '. 


out  of  the  window.  Suddenly  the  engineer 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 
The  train  was  swaying  from  side  to  side  and 
going  at  great  speed. 

The  conductor  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Old  Eighty-six,"  he  said,  **  is  evidently  go- 
ing to  make  up  for  lost  time." 

"  She  should  be  slowing  down  for  crossing 
the  G.  &  M.  line,"  replied  the  engineer.  "Good 
heavens  !  "  he  cried  a  moment  after,  "  we've 
gone  across  the  G.  &  M.  track  on  the  keen 
jump." 

The  conductor  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  knew 
the  seriousness  of  such  a  thing.  Even  the  fastest 
expresses  must  stop  dead  before  crossing  on  the 
level  the  line  of  another  railway.  It  is  the 
law. 

"  Doesn't  that  fool  in  front  know  enough  to 
stop  at  a  crossing?  " 

"  It  isn't  that  ?  "  said  Saggart.  "  He  knows 
all  right.  Even  the  train  boys  know  that. 
Old  Eighty-six  has  taken  the  bit  between  her 
teeth.  He  can't  stop  her.  Where  do  you 
pass  No.  6  to-night  ?  " 

"  At  Pointsville." 

"  That's  only  six  miles  ahead,"  said  the  en- 
gineer; "  and  in  five  minutes  at  this  rate  we 
will  be  running  on  her  time  and  on  her  rails. 
She's  always  late,  and  won't  be  on  the  side 
track.     I  must  get  to  Eighty- six." 

Saggart  quickly  made  his  way  though  the 
baggage-coach,  climbed  on  the  express  car, 
and  jumped  on  the  coal  of  the  tender.  He 
cast  his  eye  up  the  track  and  saw  glimmering 
in  the  distance,  like  a  faint  wavering  star,  the 
headlight  of  No.  6.  Looking  down  into  the 
cab  he  realized  the  situation  in  a  glance.  The 
engineer,  with  fear  in  his  face  and  beads  of 
perspiration  on  his  brow,  was  throwing  his 
whole  weight  on  the  lever,   the   fireman  help- 


®ID  Dumbet  JEiQbt^^eU* 


167 


car, 


ing  him.  Saggart  leaped  down  to  the  floor  of 
the  cab. 

"  Stand  aside,"  he  shouted ;  and  there  was 
such  a  ring  of  confident  command  in  his  voice 
that  both  men  instantly  obeyed. 

Saggart  grasped  the  lever,  and  instead  of 
trying  to  shut  off  steam  flung  it  wide  open. 
Number  Eighty-six  gave  a  quiver  and  a  jump 
forward.  "You  old  fiend!"  muttered  John 
between  his  teeth.  Then  he  pushed  the  lever 
home,  and  it  slid  into  place  as  if  there  had  never 
been  any  impediment.  The  steam  was  shut 
off,  but  the  lights  of  Pointsville  flashed  past 
them  with  the  empty  side-track  on  the  left, 
and  they  were  now  flying  along  the  single  line 
of  rails  with  the  headlight  of  No.  6  growing 
brighter  and  brighter  in  front  of  them. 

'*  Reverse  her,  reverse  her !  "  cried  the  other 
engineer,  with  fear  in  his  voice. 

"  Reverse  nothing,"  said  Saggart.  "  She'll 
slide  ten  miles  if  you  do.  Jump,  if  you're 
afraid." 

The  man  from  the  branch  line  promptly 
jumped. 

"  Save  yourself,"  said  Saggart  to  the  stoker; 
"  there's  bound  to  be  a  smash." 

"  I'll  stick  by  you,  Mr.  Saggart,"  said  the 
firemen,  who  knew  him.  But  his  hand  trem- 
bled. 

The  air-brake  was  grinding  the  long  train 
and  sending  a  shiver  of  fear  through  every  tim- 
ber, but  the  rails  were  slippery  with  frost,  and 
the  speed  of  the  train  seemed  as  great  as  ever. 
At  the  right  moment  Sa'ggart  reversed  the  en- 
gine, and  the  sparks  flew  up  from  her  great 
drivers  like  Catharine  wheels. 

"  Brace  yourself,"  cried  Saggart.  "  No.  6  is 
backing  up,  thank  God  !  " 

Next  instant  the  crash  came.  Two  head- 
lights and  two  cow-catchers  went  to  flinders. 


(i 


i68 


TTbe  jface  and  tbe  A^adft. 


•    ' 


and  the  two  trains  stood  there  with  horns 
locked,  but  no  great  damage  done,  except  a 
shaking  up  for  a  lot  of  panic-stricken  passen- 
gers. 

The  burly  engineer  of  No.  6  jumped  down 
and  came  forward,  his  mouth  full  of  oaths. 

"  What  the  h — 1  do  you  mean  by  running 
in  on  our  time  like  this  ?  Hello,  is  that  you, 
Saggart  ?  I  thought  there  was  a  new  man 
on  to-night.     I  didn't  expect  this  from/^«." 

"It's  all  right,  Billy.  It  wasn't  the  new 
man's  fault.  He's  back  in  the  ditch  with  a 
broken  leg,  I  should  say,  from  the  way  he 
jumped.  Old  Eighty-six  is  to  blame.  She  got 
on  the  rampage.  Took  advantage  of  the 
greenhorn." 

The  conductor  came  running  up. 

•'  How  is  it  .^ "  he  cried. 

*•  It's  --^11  right.  Number  Eighty-six  got  her 
nose  bi  jke,  and  served  her  right,  that's  all. 
Tell  the  passengers  there's  no  danger,  and  get 
'em  on  board.  We're  going  to  back  up  to 
Pointsville.  Better  send  the  brakesmen  to  pick 
up  the  other  engineer.  The  ground's  hard  to- 
night, and  he  may  be  hurt." 

"  I'm  going  back  to  talk  to  the  president,"  said 
the  conductor  emphatically."  He's  in  a  condition 
of  mind  to  listen  to  reason,  judging  from  the 
glimpse  I  got  of  his  face  at  the  door  of  his  car  a 
moment  ago.  Either  he  re-instates  you  or  I 
go  gathering  tickets  on  a  street-car.  This  kind 
of  thing  is  too  exciting  for  my  nerves." 

The  conductor's  interview  with  the  president 
of  the  road  was  apparently  satisfactory,  for  old 
Number  Eighty-six  is  trying  to  lead  a  jtter 
life  under  the  guidance  of  John  Saggart. 


PLAYING  WITH   MARKED 
CARDS. 

"  I'm  bothered  about  that  young  fellow,"  said 
Mellish  early  one  morning,  to  the  professional 
gambler,  Pony  Rowell. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  He  comes  here  night  after  night,  and  he 
loses  more  than  he  can  afford,  I  imagine.  He 
has  no  income,  so  far  as  I  can  find  out,  except 
what  he  gets  as  salary,  and  it  takes  a  mighty 
sight  bigger  salary  than  his  to  stand  the  strain 
he's  putting  on  it." 

*•  What  is  his  business  ?  " 

"  He  is  cashier  in  the  Ninth  National  Bank. 
I  don't  know  how  much  he  gets,  but  it  can't  be 
enough  to  permit  this  sort  of  thing  to  go  on." 

Pony  Rowell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  let  it  trouble  me,  if  I 
were  you,  Mellish." 

"  Nevertheless  it  does.  I  have  advised  him 
to  quit,  but  it  is  no  use.  If  I  tell  the  door- 
keeper not  to  let  him  in  here,  he  will  merely  go 
somewhere  else  where  they  are  not  so  particu- 
lar." 

"  I  must  confess  I  don't  quite  understand 
you,  Mellish,  long  as  I  have  known  you.  In 
your  place,  now,  I  would  either  give  up  kcep- 
mg  a  gambling  saloon  or  I  would  give  up  the 
moral  reformation  line  of  business.  I  wouldn't 
try  to  ride  two  horses  of  such  different  tem- 
pers at  the  same  time." 


?'• 


,.'  I 


1 


J 

#; 


u 


n  • 


i 


170 


XTbe  jface  anD  tbe  AaaTi. 


••  I've  never  tried  to  reform  you,  Pony,"  said 
Mellish,  with  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"  No ;  I  will  give  you  credit  for  that  much 
sense." 

"  It's  all  right  with  old  stagers  like  you  and 
me,  Pony,  but  with  a  boy  just  beginning  life,  it 
is  different.  Now  it  struck  me  that  you  might 
be  able  to  help  me  in  this." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  that  was  what  you  were 
leading  up  to,"  said  Rowell,  thrusting  his  hands 
deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets.  "  I'm  no  mission- 
ary, remember.  What  did  you  want  me  to 
do?" 

"  I  wanted  you  to  give  him  a  sharp  lesson. 
Couldn't  you  mark  a  pack  of  cards  and  get  him 
to  play  high  ?  Then,  when  you  have  taken  all 
his  ready  money  and  landed  him  in  debt  to  you 
so  that  he  can't  move,  give  him  back  his  cash 
if  he  promises  not  to  gamble  again." 

Rowell  looked  across  at  the  subject  of  their 
conversation.  "  I  don't  think  I  would  flatter 
him  so  much  as  to  even  stock  the  cards  on  him. 
I'll  clean  him  out  if  you  like.  But  it  won't  do 
any  good,  Mellish.  Look  at  his  eyes.  The  in- 
sanity of  gambling  is  in  them.  I  used  to  think 
if  I  had  $100,000,  I  would  quit.  I'm  old 
enough  now  to  know  that  I  wouldn't.  I'd 
gamble  if  I  had  a  million." 

'•  I  stopped  after  I  was  your  age." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mellish,  you  are  the  virtuous  ex- 
ception that  proves  the  rule.  You  quit  gam- 
bling the  way  the  old  woman  kept  tavern," 
and  Rowell  cast  a  glance  over  the  busy  room. 

Mellish  smiled  somewhat  trimly,  then  he 
sighed.  "I  wish  I  was  out  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  But,  anyhow,  you  think  over  what  I've  been 
talking  about,  and  if  you  can  see  your  way  to 
giving  him  a  sharp  lesson  I  wish  you  would." 

"  All  right  I  will,  but  merely  to  ease  your 
tender  conscience,  Mellish.     It's  no  use,  I  tell 


*» 


|i  1  a 


plaisino  witb  AarfieD  Catdd.       171 

you.  When  the  snake  has  bitten,  the  victim  is 
doomed.  Gambling  isn't  a  simple  thing  like 
the  opium  habit." 


Reggie  Forme,  the  bank  cashier,  ruse  at  last 
from  the  roulette  table.  He  was  flushed  with 
success,  for  there  was  a  considerable  addition 
to  the  sum  he  had  in  his  pockets  when  he  sat 
down.  He  flattered  himself  that  the  result  was 
due  to  the  system  he  had  elaborately  studied 
out. 

Nothing  lures  a  man  to  destruction  quicker 
than  a  system  that  can  be  mathematically  dem- 
onstrated. It  gives  an  air  of  business  to 
gambling  which  is  soothing  to  the  conscience 
of  a  person  brought  up  on  statistics.  The  sys- 
tem generally  works  beautifully  at  first  ;  then  a 
cog  slips  and  you  are  mangled  in  the  machinery 
before  you  know  where  you  are.  As  young 
Forme  left  the  table  he  felt  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  looking  around,  met  the  impas- 
sive gaze  of  Pony  Rowell. 

"  You're  young  at  the  business,  I  see," 
remarked  the  professional  quietly. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  "  asked  the  young- 
ster, coloring,  for  one  likes  to  be  taken  for  a 
veteran,  especially  when  one  is  an  amateur. 

"  Because  you  fool  away  your  time  at  rou- 
lette. That  is  a  game  for  boys  and  women. 
Have  you  nerve  enough  to  play  a  real  game  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  call  a  real  game  ? 

"  A  game  with  cards  in  a  private  room  for 
something  bigger  than  half-dollar  points." 

"  How  big7  " 

"  Depends  on  what  capital  you  have.  How 
much  capital  can  you  command  ?  " 

The  cashier  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  his 
eyes  fell  from  the  steady  light  of  Rowell's,  which 
seemed  to  have  an  uncomfortable  habit  of  look- 
ing into  one's  inmost  soul. 


(     . 


i■M^  t\ 


172 


Ebe  face  anD  tbe  A^adft* 


t  i, 


m 


m 


m 


"  I  can  bring  $i,ooo  here  on  Saturday  night." 

"  All  right.  That  will  do  as  a  starter.  Is  it 
an  appointment  then?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  like.     What  time  ?  " 

"  I  generally  get  here  pretty  late,  but  I  can 
make  an  exception  in  your  case.  What  do  you 
say  to  lo  o'clock  ?  " 

"That  will  suit  me." 

"Very  well,  then.  Don't  fool  away  any  of 
your  money  or  nerve  until  I  come.  You  will 
need  all  you  have  of  both." 

The  professional  gambler  and  the  amateur 
began  their  series  of  games  a  few  minutes  after 
ten  in  a  little  private  room.  The  young  man 
became  more  and  more  excited  as  the  play 
went  on.  As  for  Pony,  he  was  cool  under  any 
circumstances.  Before  an  hour  had  passed  the 
$  1,000  was  transferred  from  the  possession  of 
Forme  into  the  pockets  of  the  professional,  and 
by  midnight  the  younger  man  was  another 
$i,ooc  in  Rowell's  debt. 

"  It  isn't  my  practice,"  said  Rowell  slowly, 
"  to  play  with  a  man  unless  he  has  the  money 
insight.  I've  made  an  exception  in  your  case, 
as  luck  was  against  you,  but  I  think  this  has 
gone  far  enough.  You.  may  bi  ing  me  the  $1 ,000 
you  owe  any  day  next  week.  No  particular 
hurry,  you  know.' 

The  young  fellow  appeared  to  be  dazed. 
He  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow  and  then 
said  mechanically,  as  if  he  had  just  heard  his 
opponent's  remark  : 

"  No  hurry  ?  All  right.  Next  week.  Cer- 
tainly.    I  guess  I'll  go  home  now." 

Forme  went  out,  leaving  Rowell  idly  shuf- 
fling the  cards  at  the  small  table.  The  moment 
the  young  man  had  disappeared  all  Rowell's  in- 
dolence vanished.  He  sprang  up  and  put  on 
his  overcoat,  then  slipped  out  by  the  rear  exit 


^\ 


pla)?fn0  witb  AarlicO  CarOd.       173 

into  the  alley.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  what 
Forme  would  do.  Mentally  he  tracked  him 
from  the  gambling  rooms  to  the  river  and  he 
even  went  so  far  as  to  believe  he  would  take 
certain  streets  on  his  way  thither.  A  gambler 
is  nothing  if  not  superstitious  and  so  Rowell 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  when  he  saw  the 
young  man  emerge  from  the  dark  stair- 
way, hesitate  for  a  moment  between  the  two 
directions  open  to  him,  and  finally  choose  the 
the  one  that  the  gambler  expected  him  to  take. 
The  cold  streets  were  deserted  and  so  Rowell 
had  more  difficulty  in  following  his  late  victim 
unperceived  than  he  would  have  had  earlier  in 
the  evening.  Several  times  the  older  man 
thought  the  pursued  had  become  aware  of  the 
pursuit,  for  Forme  stopped  and  looked  around 
him ;  once  coming  back  and  taking  another 
street  as  if  trying  to  double  on  the  man  who 
was  following  him. 

Rowell  began  to  realize  the  difficulty  of  the 
task  he  had  set  for  himself,  and  as  he  iiad  never 
had  any  faith  in  it  anyhow,  he  began  to  feel 
uncomfortable  and  to  curse  the  tender  heart  of 
Mellish.  If  the  youngster  got  the  idea  into  his 
head  that  he  was  followed  he  might  succeed  in 
giving  his  pursuer  the  slip,  and  then  Rowell 
would  find  himself  with  the  fool's  death  on  his 
conscience,  and  what  was  to  him  infinitely 
worse,  with  a  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket 
that  had  been  unfairly  won.  This  thought 
made  him  curse  Mellish  afresh.  It  had  been 
entirely  against  his  own  will  that  he  had  played 
with  marked  cards,  but  Mellish  had  insisted  that 
they  should  take  no  chances,  and  the  veteran 
knew  too  well  the  uncertainties  of  playing  a  fair 
game  where  a  great  object  lesson  was  to  be 
taught.  It  would  make  them  look  like  two 
fools,    Mellish   had   said,    if   Forme    won   the 


w; 


«rvj 


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^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


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1.25 


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^1^ 


Tf^ 


174 


Zbc  jface  and  tbe  Aa6lt* 


''.Lit 


money.  In  answer  to  this  Rowel  I  had 
remarked  that  they  were  two  fools  anyhow,  but 
he  had  finally  succumbed  to  Mellish  as  the 
whole  scheme  was  Mellish's.  As  Lowell 
thought  bitterly  of  these  things  his  attention 
was  diverted  from  the  very  matter  he  had  in 
hand.  Few  men  can  pursue  a  course  of 
thought  and  a  fellow-creature  at  the  same  time. 
He  suddenly  realized  that  young  Forme  had 
escaped  him.  Rowell  stood  alone  in  the  dimly- 
lighted  silent  street  and  poured  unuttered 
maledictions  on  his  own  stupidity.  Suddenly  a 
voice  rang  out  from  a  dark  doorway. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  following  me  for  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  you're  there,  are  you  ?  "  said  Pony 
calmly. 

"  I'm  here.  Now  what  do  you  want  of  me  ? 
Aren't  you  satisfied  with  what  you  have  done 
to-night  ?  " 

"  Naturally  not,  or  I  wouldn't  be  fool-chasing 
at  such  an  hour  as  this." 

"  Then  you  admit  you  have  been  following 
me?" 

"  I  never  denied  it." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  Do  I  belong  to 
myself  or  do  you  think  I  belong  to  you,  because 
I  owe  you  some  money  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  am  sure,  to  whom  you 
belong,"  said  Rowell  with  his  slow  drawl.  "  I 
suspect,  however,  that  the  city  police,  who  seem 
to  be  scarce  at  this  hour,  have  the  first  claim 
upon  you.  What  do  I  want  of  you  ?  1  want 
to  ask  you  a  question.  Where  did  you  get  the 
money  you  played  with  to-night  ?  " 

"  It's  none  of  your  business." 

"  I  presume  not.  But  as  there  are  no 
witnesses  to  this  interesting  conversation  I 
will  venture  an  opinion  that  you  robbed  the 
bank." 

The  young  man  took  a  step  forward,  but  Pony 


IMai^ittd  witb  A^arfied  CatDd*       175 


stood  his  ground,  using  the  interval  to  light  an- 
other cigarette. 

"  I  will  also  venture  an  opinion,  Mr.  Rowell, 
and  say  that  the  money  came  as  honestly  into 
my  pocket  as  it  did  into  yours." 

"  That  wouldn't  be  saying  much  for  it.  I 
have  the  advantage  of  you,  however,  because 
the  nine  points  are  in  my  favor.  I  have  pos- 
session." 

"  What  are  you  following  me  for  }  To  give 
me  up  ?  " 

"  You  admit  the  robbery,  then." 

"  I  admit  nothing." 

*'  It  won't  be  used  against  you.  As  I  told 
you,  there  are  no  witnesses.  It  will  pay  you  to 
be  frank.     Where  did  you  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  Where  many  another  man  gets  it.  Out  of 
the  bank." 

•'  I  thought  so.  Now,  Forme,  you  are  not 
such  a  fool  as  you  look — or  act.  You  know 
where  all  that  sort  of  thing  leads  to.  You 
haven't  any  chance.  All  the  rules  of  the  game 
are  against  you.  You  have  no  more  show  than 
you  had  against  me  to-night.  Why  not  chuck 
It,  before  it  is  too  late  ?  " 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk  like  that  when  you 
have  my  money  in  your  pocket." 

"  But  that  simply  is  another  rule  of  the  game. 
The  money  of  a  thief  is  bound  to  go  into  some- 
one else's  pocket.  Whoever  enjoys  the  cash 
ultimately,  he  never  does.  Now  if  you  had  the 
money  in  your  pocket  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  go  back  to  Mellish's  and  have  an- 
other try." 

'•  I  believe  you,"  said  Rowell  with,  for  the 
first  time,  some  cordiality  in  his  voice.  He 
recognized  a  kindred  spirit  in  this  young  man. 
"  Nevertheless  it  would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  do. 
You  have  two  chances  before  you.  You  can 
become  a  sport  as  I  am  and  spend  your  life  in 
gambling  rooms.    Or  you  can  become  what  is 


■il 


I   i 


m 


M' 


176 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbe  Abadft* 


r) 


called  a  respectable  business  man.  But  you 
can't  be  both.  In  a  very  short  time  you  will  not 
have  the  choice.  You  will  be  found  out  and 
then  you  can  only  be  what  I  am — probably  not 
as  successful  as  I  have  been.  If  you  add  bank 
robbery  to  your  other  accomplishments  then 
you  will  go  to  prison  or,  what  is  perhaps  worse, 
to  Canada.  Which  career  are  you  going  to 
choose }  " 

"  Come  down  to  plain  facts.  What  do  you 
mean  by  all  this  talk  ?  If  I  say  I'll  quit  gam- 
bling do  you  mean  that  you  will  return  to  me 
the  thousand  dollars  and  call  the  other  thousand 
square  ? " 

"If  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you 
will  quit." 

"  And  if  I  don't,  what  then  ?  " 

"Then  on  Monday  I  will  hand  over  this 
money  to  the  bank  and  advise  them  to  look  into 
your  accounts." 

"  And  suppose  my  accounts  prove  to  be  all 
right,  what  then  ?  " 

Rowell  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "In  that 
remote  possibility  I  will  give  the  thousand  dol- 
lars to  you  and  play  you  another  game  for  it." 

"  I  see.  Which  means  that  you  cheated  to- 
night. " 

"  If  you  like  to  put  it  that  w.  _  " 

"  And  what  if  I  denounced  you  as  a  self-con- 
fessed cheat  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  matter  to  me.  I  wouldn't  take 
the  trouble  to  deny  it.  Nobody  would  believe 
you." 

"  You're  a  cool  hand.  Pony,  I  admire  your 
cheek.  Still,  you've  got  some  silly  elements  in 
you." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  my  trying  to  reform  you  ? 
Don't  make  any  mistake  about  that.  It  is  Mel- 
lish's  idea,  not  mine.  I  don't  believe  in  you  for 
a  moment." 


you 
llnot 

and 

y  not 

bank 

then 
vorse, 
ng  to 

0  you 
gam- 
to  me 
►usand 

at  you 


sr  this 
ok  into 

be  all 

n  that 
kd  dol- 
for  it." 
ted  to- 


ilf-con- 

I't  take 
believe 

re  your 
^ents  in 

you  ? 
is  Mel- 
rou  for 


plaiging  witb  /IbarlieD  CacDd.       177 

The  young  man  laughed.  He  reflected  for  a 
few  seconds,  then  said  :  "  I'll  take  your  offer. 
You  give  me  back  the  money  and  I  will  prom- 
ise never  to  gamble  again  in  any  shape  or 
form." 

"  You  will  return  the  cash  to  the  bank,  if  you 
took  it  from  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  will  put  it  back  the  first  thing 
on  Monday  morning," 

"Then  here  is  your  pile,"  said  Rowell,  hand- 
ing him  the  roll  of  bills. 

Forme  took  it  eagerly  and,  standing  where 
the  light  struck  down  upon  him,  counted  the 
bills,  while  Rowell  looked  on  silently  with  a 
cynical  smile  on  his  lips. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  young  man,  "  you're 
a  good  fellow,  Rowell." 

"  I'm  obliged  for  your  good  opinion.  I  hope 
you  found  the  money  correct  ?  " 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Forme,  flushing  a  little. 
"  I  hope  you  did  not  mind  my  counting  it. 
Merely  a  business  habit,  you  know." 

"  Well,  stick  to  business  habits,  Mr.  Forme. 
Good  night." 

Rowell  walked  briskly  back  to  Mellish's. 
Forme  walked  toward  the  railway  station  and 
found  that  there  was  a  train  for  Chicago  at  4  in 
the  morning.  He  had  one  clear  day  and  part 
of  another  before  he  was  missed,  and  as  it 
turned  out  all  trace  of  him  was  lost  in  the  big 
city.  The  bank  found  about  $6,000  missing. 
Two  years  after,  news  came  that  Forme  had 
been  shot  dead  in  a  gambling  hell  in  Southern 
Texas. 

"  We  are  two  first-class  fools,"  said  Rowell 
to  Mellish,  "  and  I  for  one  don't  feel  proud  of 
the  episode,  so  we'll  say  nothing  more  about  it. 
The  gambling  mania  was  in  his  blood.  Gam- 
bling is  not  a  vice  ;  it  is  a  disease,  latent  in  all 
of  us." 


Htil 


■    ¥ 


I    ,'i 


P:*t         .4 


*,  '    ! 


THE  BRUISER'S  COURTSHIP. 


f  r 


/« u 


li    I 


While  the  Northern  Bruiser  sat  in  the  chair 
in  his  corner  and  was  being  fanned  he  resolved 
to  finish  the  fight  at  the  next  round.  The  su- 
perior skill  of  his  opponent  was  telling  upon 
him,  and  although  the  Bruiser  was  a  young 
man  of  immense  strength,  yet,  up  to  that  time, 
the  alertness  and  dexterity  of  the  Yorkshire 
Chicken  had  baffled  him,  and  prevented  him 
from  landing  one  of  his  tremendous  shoulder 
thrusts.  But  even  though  skill  had  check- 
mated strength  up  to  this  point,  the  Chicken 
had  not  entirely  succeeded  in  defending  himself, 
and  was  in  a  condition  described  by  the  yelling 
crowd  as  '•  groggy." 

When  time  was  called  the  Bruiser  was  speed- 
ily on  his  feet.  His  face  did  not  present  the 
repulsive  appearance  so  visible  on  the  counte- 
nance of  his  opponent,  but  the  Bruiser  had  ex- 
perience enough  to  know  that  the  body  blows 
received  in  this  fight  had  had  their  effect  on  his 
wind  and  staying  powers  ;  and  that  although  the 
Chicken  presented  an  appalling  appearance 
with  his  swollen  lips  and  cheeks,  and  his  eyes 
nearly  closed,  yet  he  was  in  better  trim  for  con- 
tinuing the  battle  than  the  Bruiser. 

The  Chicken  came  up  to  the  mark  less 
promptly  than  his  big  antagonist,  but  whether 
it  was  from  weakness  or  lack  of  sight,  he 
seemed  uncertain  in  his  movements,  and  the 
hearts  of  his  backers  sank  as  they  saw  him 
stagger  rather  than  walk  to  his  place. 


^be  :©rui0cr'0  Coutteblp. 


179 


HIP. 

ie  chair 
esolved 
rhe  su- 
g  upon 
I  young 
at  time, 
orkshire 
ted  him 
shoulder 
i  check- 
Chicken 
;  himself, 
e  yelling 


L 


s  speed- 
jsent  the 
!  counte- 
■  had  ex- 
»dy  blows 
ct  on  his 
lough  the 
)pearance 
his  eyes 
1  for  con- 

lark  less 
whether 

sight,  he 
and  the 
saw  him 


Before  the  Chicken,  as  it  were,  fully  waked 
up  to  the  situation,  the  Bruiser  lunged  forward 
and  planted  a  blow  on  his  temple  that  would 
have  broken  the  guard  of  a  man  who  was  in 
better  condition  than  the  Chicken.  The  York- 
shireman  fell  like  a  log,  and  lay  where  he  fell. 
Then  the  Bruiser  got  a  lesson  which  terrified 
him.  A  sickly  ashen  hue  came  over  the  purple 
face  of  the  man  on  the  ground.  The  Bruiser 
had  expected  some  defep'^e,  and  the  terrible 
blow  had  been  even  ino  e  powerful  than  he 
intended.  A  shivering  whisper  went  round  the 
crowd,  "  He  is  killed,"  and  instantly  the  silenced 
mob  quietly  scattered.  It  was  every  man  for 
himself  before  the  authorities  took  a  hand  in  the 
game. 

The  Bruiser  stood  there  swaying  from  side  to 
side,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  prostrate  man. 
He  saw  himself  indicted  and  hanged  for  mur- 
der, and  he  swore  that  if  the  Chicken  recovered 
he  would  never  again  enter  the  ring.  This  was 
a  phase  of  prize-fighting  that  he  had  never  be- 
fore had  experience  of.  On  different  occasions 
he  had,  it  is  true,  knocked  out  his  various  oppo- 
nents, and  once  or  twice  he  had  been  knocked 
out  himself ;  but  the  Chicken  had  fought  so 
pluckily  up  to  the  last  round  that  the  Bruiser 
had  put  forth  more  of  his  tremendous  strength 
than  he  had  bargained  for,  and  now  the  man's 
life  hung  on  a  thread. 

The  unconscious  pugilist  was  carried  to  an 
adjoining  room.  Two  physicians  were  in  at- 
tendance upon  him,  and  at  first  the  reports 
were  most  gloomy,  but  towards  daylight  the 
Bruiser  learned  with  relief  that  the  chances 
were  in  favor  of  his  opponent. 

The  Bruiser  had  been  urged  to  fly,  but  he 
was  a  man  of  i^^^rong  common  sense,  and  he 
thoroughly  understood  the  futility  of  flight. 
His  face  and  his  form  were  too  well  known  all 


f% 


<l        i 


■  lu 


180 


Zbc  jface  and  tbe  Aadfi* 


around  the  country.  It  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  him  to  escape,  even  if  he  had  tried 
to  do  so. 

When  the  Yorkshire  Chicken  recovered,  the 
Bruiser's  friends  laughed  at  his  resolve  to  quit 
the  ring,  but  they  could  not  shake  it.  The 
money  he  had  won  in  his  last  fight,  together 
with  what  he  had  accumulated  before — for  he 
was  a  frugal  man — was  enough  to  keep  him  for 
the  rest  of  his  days,  and  he  resolved  to  return 
to  the  Border  town  where  he  was  born,  and 
where  doubtless  his  fame  had  preceded  him. 

He  buckled  his  guineas  in  a  belt  around  him, 
and  with  a  stout  stick  in  his  hand  he  left  Lon- 
don for  the  North.  He  was  a  strong  and 
healthy  young  man,  and  had  not  given  way  to 
dissipation,  as  so  many  prizefighters  had  done 
before,  and  will  again.  He  had  a  horror  of  a 
cramped  and  confined  seat  in  a  stage  coach. 
He  loved  the  free  air  of  the  heights  and  the 
quiet  stillness  of  the  valleys. 

It  was  in  the  days  of  highwaymen,  and  trav- 
elling by  coach  was  not  considered  any  too 
safe.  The  Bruiser  was  afraid  of  no  man  that 
lived,  if  he  met  him  in  the  open  with  a  stick  in 
his  hand,  or  with  nature's  weapons,  but  he 
feared  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  held  at  his  head  in 
the  dark  by  a  man  with  a  mask  over  his  face. 
So  he  buckled  his  belt  around  him  with  all  his 
worldly  gear  in  gold,  took  his  own  almost  for- 
gotten name,  Abel  Trenchon,  set  his  back  to 
the  sun  and  his  face  to  the  north  wind,  and 
journeyed  on  foot  along  the  king's  highway. 
He  stopped  at  night  in  the  wayside  inns,  taking 
up  his  quarters  before  the  sun  had  set,  and 
leaving  them  when  it  was  broad  daylight  in  the 
morning.  He  disputed  his  reckonings  like  a 
man  who  must  needs  count  the  pennies,  and  no 
one  suspected  the  sturdy  wayfarer  of  carrying  a 
fortune  around  his  body. 


u^\ 


^be  JBrufset'd  Courtdbfp. 


i8i 


As  his  face  turned  toward  the  North  his 
thought  went  to  the  Border  town  where  he  had 
spent  his  childhood.  His  father  and  mother 
were  dead,  and  he  doubted  now  if  anyone  there 
remembered  him,  or  would  have  a  welcome  for 
him.  Nevertheless  no  other  spot  on  earth  was 
so  dear  to  him,  and  it  had  always  been  his  in- 
tention, when  he  settled  down  and  took  a  wife, 
to  retire  to  the  quiet  little  town. 

The  weather,  at  least,  gave  him  a  surly  wel- 
come. On  the  last  day's  tramp  the  wind 
howled  and  the  rain  beat  in  gusts  against  him, 
but  he  was  a  man  who  cared  little  for  the  tem- 
pest, and  he  bent  his  body  to  the  blast,  trudging 
sturdily  on. 

It  was  evening  when  he  began  to  recognize 
familiar  objects  by  the  wayside,  and  he  was 
surprised  to  see  how  little  change  there  had 
been  in  all  the  years  he  was  away.  He  stopped 
at  an  inn  for  supper,  and,  having  refreshed  him- 
self, resolved  to  break  the  rule  he  had  made 
for  himself  throughout  the  journey.  He  would 
push  on  through  the  night,  and  sleep  in  his  na- 
tive village. 

The  storm  became  more  pitiless  as  he  pro- 
ceeded, and  he  found  himself  sympathizing  with 
those  poor  creatures  who  were  compelled  to  be 
out  in  it,  but  he  never  gave  a  thought  to  him- 
self. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  saw  the 
square  church  tower  standing  blackly  out 
against  the  dark  sky ;  and  when  he  began  to 
descend  the  valley,  on  the  other  side  of  which 
the  town  stood,  a  thrill  of  fear  came  over  him, 
as  he  remembered  what  he  had  so  long  for- 
gotten— that  the  valley  was  haunted,  and  was 
a  particularly  dangerous  place  about  the  hour 
of  midnight.  To  divert  his  thoughts  he  then 
began  to  wonder  who  the  woman  was  he 
would  marry.     She  was  doubtless  now  sleeping 


Ki'^l 


l82 


^be  jface  and  tbe  ^asft. 


n 


calmly  in  the  village  on  the  hill,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  approach  of  her  lover  and  her  hus- 
band. He  could  not  conceal  from  himself  the 
fact  that  he  would  be  reckoned  a  good  match 
when  his  wealth  was  known,  for,  excepting  the 
Squire,  he  would  probably  be  the  richest  man 
in  the  place,  However,  he  resolved  to  be  si- 
lent about  his  riches,  so  that  the  girl  he  married 
would  little  dream  of  the  good  fortune  that 
awaited  her.  He  laughed  aloud  as  he  thought 
of  the  pleasure  he  would  have  in  telling  his  wife 
of  her  luck,  but  the  laugh  died  on  his  lips  as  he 
saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  something  moving 
stealthily  along  the  hedge. 

He  was  now  in  the  depth  of  the  valley  in  a 
most  lonesome  and  eerie  spot.  The  huge  trees 
on  each  side  formed  an  arch  over  the  roadway 
and  partially  sheltered  it  from  the  rain. 

He  stood  in  his  tracks,  grasped  his  stick  with 
firmer  hold,  and  shouted  valiantly,  "  Who  goes 
there  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  but  in  the  silence 
which  followed  he  thought  he  heard  a  woman's 
sob. 

"  Come  out  into  the  road,"  he  cried,  "  or  I 
shall  fire." 

His  own  fear  of  pistols  was  so  great  that  he 
expected  everyone  else  to  be  terrorized  by  the 
threat  of  using  them ;  and  yet  he  had  never 
possessed  nor  carried  a  pistol  in  his  life. 

"  Please — please  don't  fire,"  cried  a  trem- 
bling voice,  from  out  the  darkness.  "  I  will  do 
as  you  tell  me."  And  so  saying  the  figure 
moved  out  upon  the  road. 

Trenchon  peered  at  her  through  the  darkness, 
but  whether  she  was  old  or  young  he  could  not 
tell.  Her  voice  seemed  to  indicate  that  she 
was  young. 

"  Why,  lass,"  said  Trenchon,  kindly,  "  what 


Zbc  3Bt\xi0CX'6  Coutt0bip* 


'83 


uncon- 
ler  hus- 
seU  the 
I  match 
ting  the 
2St  man 
I  be  si- 
married 
me  that 
thought 
r  his  wife 
ps  as  he 
moving 

illey  in  a 

uge  trees 

roadway 

Stick  with 
Nho  goes 

le  silence 
L  woman's 

:ied, "  or  I 

at  that  he 
^ed  by  the 
had  never 

ife. 

I  a  trem- 
*«  1  will  do 
the  figure 

e  darkness, 
could  not 
5  that  she 

dly,  *•  what 


dost  thou  here  at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 
night  ? " 

•*  Alas  ! "  she  cried,  weeping  ;  "  my  father 
turned  me  out,  as  he  has  often  done  before, 
but  to-night  is  a  bitter  night,  and  1  had  no- 
where to  go,  so  I  came  here  to  be  sheltered 
from  the  rain.  He  will  be  asleep  ere  long,  and 
he  sleeps  soundly.  I  may  perhaps  steal  in  by  a 
window,  although  sometimes  he  fastens  them 
down." 

"God's  truth!"  cried  Trenchon,  angrily. 
"  Who  is  thy  brute  of  a  father  ?  " 

The  girl  hesitated,  and  then  spoke  as  if  to 
excuse  him,  but  again  Trenchon  demanded  his 
name. 

"  He  is  the  blacksmith  of  the  village,  and 
Cameron  is  his  name." 

"  I  remember  him,"  said  Trenchon.  "  Is  thy 
mother,  then,  dead  }  '' 

"  Yes, "  answered  the  girl,  weeping  afresh. 
"  She  has  been  dead  these  five  years." 

"  I  knew  her  when  I  was  a  boy,"  said 
Trenchon.  "  Thy  father  also,  and  many  a 
grudge  I  owe  him,  although  I  had  forgotten 
about  them.  Still,  I  doubt  not  but  as  a  boy  I 
was  as  much  in  fault  as  he,  although  he  was 
harsh  to  all  of  us,  and  now  it  seems  he  is  harsh 
to  thee.  My  name  is  Trenchon.  I  doubt  if 
any  in  the  village  now  remember^me,  although, 
perhaps,  they  may  have  heard  of  me  from  Lon- 
don," he  said,  with  some  pride,  and  a  hope  that 
the  girl  would  confirm  his  thoughts.  But  she 
shook  her  head. 

*'  I  have  never  heard  thy  name,"  she  said. 

Trenchon  sighed.     This,  then,  was  fame  ! 

**  Ah,  well !  "  he  cried,  "  that  matters  not ; 
they  shall  hear  more  of  me  later.  I  will  go  with 
thee  to  thy  father's  house  and  demand  for  thee 
admittance  and  decent  usage." 

But  the  girl  shrank  back.    "  Oh,  no,  no ! 


3 


It 


R 


'1 


tf 


-Tfm^ 


V   v       ( 


.'I 


m 


184 


(Tbe  face  anD  tbe  /ilbaeti. 


she  cried  ;  "  that  will  never  do.  My  father  is  a 
hard  man  to  cross.  There  are  none  in  the  vil- 
lage who  dare  contend  with  him." 

"  That  is  as  it  may  be,"  said  Trenchon,  with 
easy  confidence.  "  I,  for  one,  fear  him  not. 
Come,  lass,  with  me,  and  see  if  I  cannot,  after 
all  these  years,  pick  out  thy  father's  dwelling. 
Come,  I  say,  thou  must  not  longer  tarry  here  ; 
the  rain  is  coming  on  afresh,  and  these  trees, 
thick  as  they  are,  form  scant  protection.  It  is 
outrageous  that  thou  should  wander  in  this 
storm,  while  thy  brutal  father  lies  in  shelter. 
Nay,  do  not  fear  harm  for  either  thee  or  me ; 
and  as  ^or  him,  he  shall  not  suffer  -if  thou  but 
wish  it  ). "  And,  drawing  the  girl's  hand  through 
his  arm,  he  took  her  reluctantly  with  him,  and 
without  direction  from  her  soon  stood  before 
the  blacksmith's  house. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  triumphantly,  "  I  knew 
the  place,  and  yet  I  have  not  seen  the  town  for 
years." 

Trenchon  rapped  soundly  on  the  oaken  door 
with  his  heavy  stick,  and  the  blows  re-echoed 
through  the  silent  house.  The  girl  shrank  tim- 
idly behind  him,  and  would  have  fled,  but  that 
he  held  her  firmly  by  the  wrist. 

"Nay,  nay,"  he  said:  "believe  me  there  is 
naught  to  fear.  I  will  see  that  thou  art  not 
ill-used." 

As  he  spoke  the  window  above  was  thrown 
up,  and  a  string  of  fearful  oaths  greeted  the 
two,  whereat  the  girl  once  more  tried  to  release 
her  imprisoned  wrist,  but  Trenchon  held  it 
lightly,  though  with  a  grip  like  steel. 

The  stout  old  man  thrust  his  head  through 
the  open  window. 

"  God's  blight  on  thee  ! "  he  cried,  "  thou  pair 
of  fools  who  wish  to  wed  so  much  that  ye  ven- 
ture out  in  such  a  night  as  this.  Well,  have 
your  way,  and  let  me  have   my  rest.    In  the 


Zbc  JScuidcc'd  Coumbtp* 


185 


her  is  a 
the  vil- 

)n,  with 
im  not. 
Dt,  after 
welling, 
ry  here  ; 
;e  trees. 
[1.     It  is 

in  this 

shelter. 

or  me;  . 
:hou  but 
i  through 
him,  and 
id  before 

«'  I  knew 
town  for 

iken  door 
re-echoed 
irank  tim- 
,  but  that 

e  there  is 
)U  art  not 

as  thrown 

reeted  the 

to  release 

)n  held   it 

.d  through 

"  thou  pair 
lat  ye  ven- 
Well,  have 
St.    In  the 


name  of  the  law  of  Scotland  I  pronouce  ye  man 
and  wife.  There,  that  will  bind  rwo  fools  to- 
gether as  strongly  as  if  the  Archbishop  spoke 
the  words.  Place  thou  the  money  on  the  steps. 
I  warrant  none  will  venture  to  touch  it  when  it 
belongs  to  m.e."  And  with  that  he  closed  the 
window. 

••  Is  he  raving  mad  or  drunk  ?  "  cried  Tren- 
chon. 

The  girl  gave  a  wailing  cry.  "  Alas !  alas ! " 
she  said  ;  "  he  is  is  neither.  He  is  so  used  to 
marrying  folk  who  come  from  England  across 
the  Border  that  he  thinks  not  it  his  daughter 
who  came  with  thee,  but  two  v/ho  wished  to 
wed.  They  come  at  all  hours  of  the  night  and 
day,  and  he  has  married  us.     I  am  thy  wife." 

The  astonished  man  dropped  her  wrist,  and 
she  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes  and  wept. 

"  Married  ! "  cried  Trenchon.  "  We  two 
married ! " 

He  looked  with  interest  at  the  girl,  but  in  the 
darkness  could  see  nothing  of  her.  The  un- 
heeded rain  pelted  on  them  both. 

"  Hast  thou  '* — he  hesitated — "  hast  thou 
some  other  lover,  since  you  weep  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  No  one,"  she 
said,  "  comes  near  us.     They  fear  my  father. " 

"  Then,  if  this  be  true,  why  dost  thou  weep  } 
I  am  not  considered  so  bad  a  fellow." 

"  I  weep  not  for  myself,  but  for  thee,  who 
through  the  kindness  of  thy  heart  hast  been 
led  into  this  trap.  Believe  me,  it  was  not  my 
intention." 

'•  Judging  from  thy  voice,  my  girl,  and  if 
thou  favorest  thy  mother,  as  I  think,  whom  I 
remember  well,  tnis  is  a  trap  that  I  shall  make 
little  effort  to  get  my  foot  out  of.  But  thou 
art  dripping,  and  I  stand  chattering  here. 
Once  more  I  will  arouse  my  father-in-law." 


■i 


r 


■'1 

If 


i86 


^be  jface  anD  tbc  ASasTi. 


u'i 


liUhi'"  '? 


So  saying,  he  stoutly  rapped  again  with  his 
stick  upon  the  door. 

Once  more  the  window  was  pushed  up,  and 
again  the  angry  head  appeared. 

"  Get  you  gone ! "  cried^  the  maddened 
blacksmith,  but  before  he  could  say  anything 
further  Trenchon  cried  out : 

"  It  is  thy  daughter  here  who  waits.  Open 
the  door,  thou  limb  of  hell,  or  I  will  burst  it  in 
and  cast  thee  out  as  thou  hast  done  thy  daugh- 
ter." 

The  blacksmith,  who  had  never  in  his  life 
been  spoken  to  in  tones  or  words  like  these, 
was  so  amazed  that  he  could  neither  speak  nor 
act,  but  one  stout  kick  against  the  door  so 
shook  the  fabric  that  he  speedily  saw  another 
such  would  break  into  his  domicile  ;  so,  leaving 
the  window  open  that  his  curses  might  the 
better  reach  them,  the  blacksmith  came  down 
and  threw  the  barrier  from  the  door,  flinging  it 
open  and  standing  on  the  threshold  so  as  to 
bar  all  ingress. 

"  Out  of  the  way,"  cried  Trenchon,  roughly 
placing  his  hand  on  the  other's  breast  with 
apparent  lightness,  but  with  a  push  that  sent 
him  staggering  into  the  room. 

The  young  man  pulled  the  girl  in  after  him 
and  closed  the  door. 

"  Thou  knowest  the  way,"  he  whispered. 
"  Strike  thou  a  light." 

The  trembling  girl  lit  a  candle,  and  as  it 
shone  upon  her  face  Trenchon  gave  a  deep 
sigh  of  happiness  and  relief.  No  girl  in  the 
village  could  be  more  fair. 

The  blacksmith  stood,  his  fingers  clenched 
with  rage ;  but  he  looked  with  hesitation  and 
respect  upon  the  burly  form  of  the  prizefighter. 
Yet  the  old  man  did  not  flinch. 

"  Throw  aside  tiiy  stick,"  he  cried, "  or  wait 
until  I  can  get  me  another." 


m 


vith  his 

up,  and 

addened 
inything 

;.  Open 
irst  it  in 
f  daugh- 

i  his  life 
ie  these, 
peak  nor 
door  so 
r  another 

0,  leaving 
night  the 
me  down 
flinging  it 

so  as  to 

1,  roughly 
east  with 

that  sent 

after  him 
^A'hispered. 

and  as  it 
/e  a  deep 
jirl   in  the 

s  clenched 
itation  and 
►rlzefighter. 

i, "  or  wait 


^ 


^be  Xx\x{0cx*s  Courtebip. 


187 


Trenchon  flung  his  stick  into  the  corner. 

"  Oh !  oh  !  "  cried  the  girl,  clasping  her 
hands.  "You  must  not  fight."  But  she  ap- 
pealed to  her  husband  and  not  to  her  father, 
which  caused  a  glow  of  satisfac^^ion  to  rise 
from  the  heart  of  the  young  man. 

"Get  thee  out  of  this  house," cried  her  father, 
fiercely,  turning  upon  her. 

"  Talk  not  thus  to   my  wife,"  said  Trenchon,  ; 
advancing  upon  him. 

"  Thy  wife } "  cried  the  blacksmith,  in 
amaze. 

"  My  wife,"  repeated  the  young  man  with 
emphasis.  "They  tell  me,  blacksmith,  that 
thou  art  strong.  That  thou  art  brutal  I  know, 
but  thy  strength  I  doubt.  Come  to  me  and 
test  it." 

The  old  man  sprang  upon  him,  and  the 
Bruiser  caught  him  by  the  elbows  and  held  him 
helpless  as  a  child.  He  pressed  him  up  against 
the  wall,  pushed  his  wrists  together,  and  clasped 
them  both  in  his  one  gigantic  hand.  Then, 
placing  the  other  on  the  blacksmith's  shoulder, 
he  put  his  weight  upon  him,  and  the  black- 
smith, cursing  but  helpless,  sank  upon  his  knees. 

"  Now,  thou  hardened  sinner,"  cried  the 
Bruiser,  bending  over  him.  "Beg  from  thy 
daughter  on  thy  knees  for  a  night's  shelter  in 
this  house.  Beg,  or  I  will  thrust  thy  craven 
face  against  the  floor." 

The  girl  clung  to  her  newly-found  husband, 
and  entreated  him  not  to  hurt  her  father. 

"  I  shall  not  hurt  him  if  he  do  but  speak. 
If  he  has  naught  but  curses  on  his  lips,  why 
then  those  lips  must  kiss  the  flags  that  are  be- 
neath him.  Speak  out,  blacksmith :  what 
hast  thou  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  beg  for  shelter,"  said  the  conquered 
man. 

Instantly  the  Bruiser  released  him. 


J   I 


I 


> ' 


m 


A 


\\ 


!i 


i88 


Zhc  face  and  tbe  Aadfi* 


"  Get  thee  to  bed,"  he  said,  and  the  old  man 
slunk  away. 

"  Wife,"  said  Abel  Trenchon,  opening  his 
arms,  "  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  London 
for  thee.  I  knew  not  then  what  drew  me  north, 
but  now  I  know  that  One  wiser  than  me  led  my 
steps  hither.  As  far  as  erring  man  may  promise 
I  do  promise  thee  that  thou  shalt  ne'er  regret 
being  cast  out  this  night  into  the  storm." 


r> 


THE  RAID  ON  MELLISH. 


Some  newspapers  differ  from  others.  One 
peculiarity  about  the  Argus  was  the  frequency 
with  which  it  changed  its  men.  Managing  ed- 
itors came  who  were  going  to  revolutionize  the 
world  and  incidentally  the  Argus,  but  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  disappearing  to  give  place  to 
others  who  also  disappeared.  Newspaper  men 
in  that  part  of  the  country  never  considered 
themselves  full-fledged  unless  they  had  had  a 
turn  at  managing  the  Argus.  If  you  asked  who 
was  at  the  head  of  the  Argus  the  answer  would 
very  likely  be :  •'  Well,  So-and-so  was  manag- 
ing it  this  morning.  I  don't  know  who  is  run- 
ning it  this  afternoon." 

Perhaps  the  most  weird  period  in  the  ^  istory 
of  the  Argus  was  when  the  owners  imported  a 
crank  from  Pittsburg  and  put  him  in  is  local 
editor,  over  the  heads  of  the  city  staii.  His 
name  was  McCrasky,  christened  Angus  or 
Archie,  I  forget  which,  at  this  period  of  time. 
In  fact,  his  Christian  name  was  always  a  moot 
point ;  some  of  the  reporters  saying  it  was  Angus 
and  others  Archie,  no  one  having  the  courage 
to  ask  him.  Anyhow,  he  signed  himself  A. 
McCrasky.  He  was  a  good  man,  which  was 
rather  an  oddity  on  the  staff,  and  puzzled  the 
reporters  not  a  little.  Most  of  his  predecessors 
had  differed  much  from  each  other,  but  they 
were  all  alike  in  one  thing,  and  that  was  profan- 
ity.    They  expressed  disapproval  in   language 


I 


1' 


:'i  fM: 


190 


^be  Iface  anO  tbc  UtsaeJi. 


a^ 


1      '     ! 


^.-. 


i^J 


i  :'.    . 


jr 


^!1' 


that  made  the  hardened  printers'  towel  in  the 
composing  room  shrink. 

McCrasky's  great  point  was  that  the  local 
pages  of  the  paper  should  have  a  strong  moral 
mtfuence  on  the  community.  He  knocked  the 
sporting  editor  speechless  by  telling  him  that 
they  would  have  no  more  reports  of  prize-fights. 
Poor  Murren  went  back  to  the  local  room,  sat 
down  at  his  table  and  buried  his  head  in  his 
hands.  Every  man  on  a  local  staff  naturally 
thinks  the  paper  is  published  mainly  to  give  his 
department  a  show,  and  Murren  considered  a 
fight  to  a  finish  as  being  of  more  real  importance 
to  the  world  than  a  presidential  election.  The 
rest  of  the  boys  tried  to  cheer  him  up.  "  A  fine 
state  of  things,"  said  Murren  bitterly.  '•  Think 
of  the  scrap  next  week  between  the  California 
Duffer  and  Pigeon  Billy  and  no  report  of  it  in 
the  Argus  !  Imagine  the  walk-over  for  the 
other  papers.  What  in  thunder  does  he  think 
people  want  to  read  ?  " 

But  there  was  another  surprise  in  store  for 
the  boys.  McCrasky  assembled  them  all  in  his 
room  and  held  forth  to  them.  He  suddenly 
sprung  a  question  on  the  criminal  reporter — 
so  suddenly  that  Thompson,  taken  unawares, 
almost  spoke  the  truth. 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  gambling  houses  in 
this  city  ?  " 

Thompson  caught  his  breath  and  glanced 
quickly  at  Murren. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  don't,  but  perhaps 
the  religious  editor  does.     Better  ask  him." 

The  religious  editor  smiled  and  removed  his 
corn-cob  pipe. 

"  There  aren't  any,"  i  said.  "  Didn't  you 
know  it  was  against  the  law  to  keep  a  gambling 
house  in  this  state  ?  Yes,  sir  !  "  Then  he 
put  his  corn-cob  pipe  back  in  its  place. 

McCrasky  was  pleased  to  see  that  his  young 


^' 


Zbc  l^aiD  on  ascliieb. 


191 


1  in  the 

le  local 
g  moral 
ked  the 
lim  that 
e-fights. 
00m,  sat 
i  in  his 
laturally 
give  his 
iidered  a 
portance 
m.    The 
"  A  fine 
"  Think 
"alifornia 
:  of  it  in 
■  for  the 
i  he  think 

store  for 
all  in  his 
suddenly 
eporter — 
inawares, 

louses  in 

glanced 

|t  perhaps 
him." 
loved  his 

idn't  you 

(gambling 

'hen     he 

lis  young 


men  knew  so  little  of  the  wickedness  of  a  great 
city;  nevertheless  he  was  there  to  give  them 
some  information,  so  he  said  quietly  : 

"  Certainly  it  is  against  the  law  ;  but  many 
things  that  are  against  the  law  flourish  in  a  city 
like  this.  Now  I  want  you  to  tind  out  before 
the  week  is  past  how  many  gambling  houses 
there  are  and  where  they  are  located.  When 
you  are  sure  of  your  facts  we  will  organize  a 
raid  and  the  news  will  very  likely  be  exclusive, 
for  it  will  be  late  at  night  and  the  other  papers 
may  not  hear  of  it." 

"  Suppose,"  said  the  religious  editor,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  he  again  removed  his  corn- 
cob, "  that — assuming  such  places  to  exist — 
you  found  some  representatives  of  the  other 
papers  there  ?  They  are  a  bad  lot,  the  fellows 
on  the  other  papers." 

"  If  they  are  there,"  said  the  local  editor, 
"  they  will  go  to  prison. " 

"  They  won't  mind  that,  if  they  can  write 
something  about  it,"  said  Murren  gloomily.  In 
his  opinion  the  Argus  was  going  to  the  dogs. 

"  Now,  Thompson,"  said  McCrasky,  "  you  as 
criminal  reporter  must  know  a  lot  of  men  who 
can  give  you  particulars  for  a  first-rate  article 
on  the  evils  of  gambling.  Get  it  ready  for 
Saturday's  paper — a  column  and  a  half,  with 
scare  heads.  We  must  work  up  public  opin- 
ion." 

When  the  boys  got  back  into  the  local  room 
again,  Murren  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
while  Thompson  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
laughed. 

"  Work  up  public  opinion,"  he  said.  "  Mac 
had  better  work  up  his  own  knowledge  of  the 
city  streets,  and  not  put  Bolder  avenue  in  the 
East  End,  as  he  did  this  morning." 

The  religious  editor  was  helping  himself  to 
tobacco  from  Murren's  drawer.    "  Are  you  go- 


/!     I 


I'  IhW-i 


192 


TXbe  jface  and  tbe  Aaaft* 


ing  to  put  Mellish  on  his  guard  ?  "  he  asked 
Thompson. 

"  I  don't  just  know  what  I'm  going  to  do," 
said  Thompson ;  "  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  replied  the  R.  E. 
**  Beastly  poor  tobacco,  this  of  yours,  Murren, 
Why  don't  you  buy  cut  plug  ?  " 

"  You're  not  compelled  to  smoke  it,"  said  the 
sporting  editor,  without  raising  his  head. 

"  I  am  when  mine  is  out,  and  the  other  fel- 
lows keep  their  drawers  locked." 

Thompson  dropped  in  on  Mellish,  the  keeper 
of  the  swell  gambling  rooms,  to  consult  with  him 
on  the  article  for  Saturday's  paper,  Mellish  took 
a  great  interest  in  it,  and  thought  it  would  do 
good.  He  willingly  gave  Thompson  several 
instances  where  the  vice  had  led  to  ruin  of 
promising  young  men. 

"  All  men  gamble  in  some  way  or  another," 
said  Mellish  meditatively.  "  Some  take  it  one 
way  and  some  another.  It  is  inherent  in  human 
nature,  like  original  sin.  The  beginning'of  every 
business  is  a  gamble.  If  I  had  $30,000  I  would 
rather  run  my  chance  of  doubling  it  at  these 
tables  here  than  I  would,  for  instance,  by  start- 
ing a  new  newspaper  or  putting  it  on  wheat  or 
in  railway  stocks.  Take  a  land  boom,  for  in- 
stance, such  as  there  was  in  California  or  at 
Winnipeg — the  difference  between  putting  your 
money  in  a  thing  like  that  or  going  in  for  legiti- 
mate gambling  is  that,  in  the  one  case,  you  are 
sure  to  lose  your  cash,  while  in  the  other  you 
have  a  chance  of  winning  some.  I  hold  that  all 
kinds  of  (gambling  are  bad,  unless  a  man  can 
easily  a.ord  to  lose  what  he  stakes.  The 
trouble  is  that  gambling  affects  some  people  like 
liquor.  I  knew  a  man  once  who — "  but  you 
can  read  the  whole  article  if  you  turn  up  the 
back  numbers  of  the  Argus. 

Thompson    told    Mellish  about    McCrasky. 


tibe  l^aid  on  Aellidb. 


tie  asked 
r  to  do," 

;    R.    E. 

Murren, 

'  said  the 

,d. 

other  fel- 

he  keeper 
t  with  him 
ellish  took 
would  do 
in  several 
o  ruin  of 


another," 
ake  it  one 
t  in  human 
ng'of  every 
oo  I  would 
it  at  these 
e,  by  start- 
wheat  or 
m,  for  in- 
rnia  or  at 
itting  your 
for  legiti- 
,   you  are 
other  you 
lold  that  all 
man  can 
ikes.    The 
people  like 
-"but  you 
urn  up  the 

McCrasky. 


193 


Mellish  was  much  interested,  and  said  he  would 
like  to  meet  the  local  editor.  He  thought  the 
papers  should  take  more  interest  in  the  suppres- 
sion of  gambling  dens  than  they  did,  and  for 
his  part  he  said  he  would  like  to  see  them  all 
stopped,  his  own  included.  "  Of  course,"  he 
added,  "  I  could  shut  up  my  shop,  but  it 
would  simply  mean  that  someone  else  would 
open  another,  and  I  don't  think  any  man 
ever  ran  such  a  place  fairer  than  I  do." 

McCrasky  called  on  the  chief  of  police,  and 
introduced  himself  as  the  local  editor  of  the 
Argus. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  chief,  "  has  Gorman  gone, 
then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  Gorman,"  said  Mc- 
Crasky ;  "  the  man  I  succeeded  was  Finnigan. 
I  believe  he  is  in  Cincinnati  now." 

When  the  chief  learned  the  purport  of  the 
local  editor's  visit  he  became  very  official  and 
somewhat  taciturn.  He  presumed  that  there 
were  gambling  houses  in  the  city.  If  there 
were,  they  were  very  quiet  and  no  complaints 
ever  reached  his  ears.  There  were  many  things, 
he  said,  that  it  was  impossible  to  suppress,  and 
the  result  of  attempted  suppression  was  to 
drive  the  evil  deeper  down.  He  seemed  to  be 
in  favor  rather  of  regulating,  than  of  attempting 
the  impossible ;  still,  if  McCrasky  brought  him 
undoubted  evidence  that  a  gambling  house  was 
in  operation,  he  would  consider  it  his  duty  to 
make  a  raid  on  it.  He  advised  McCrasky  to  go 
very  cautiously  about  it,  as  the  gamblers  had 
doubtless  many  friends  who  would  give  a  tip 
and  so  frustrate  a  raid,  perhaps  letting  some- 
body in  for  damages.  McCrasky  said  he  would 
be  careful. 

Chance  played  into  the  hands  of  McCrasky 
and  "  blew  in  "  on  him  a  man  who  little  recked 
what  he  was  doing  when  he  entered  the  local  ed- 


iii  S-. 


194 


XLbc  jface  and  tbe  /ibaelt* 


'  • ' 


XI  ■  ■ 


''  i  '• 


M 


H 


iter's  room.  Gus  Hammerly,  sport  and  man- 
about-town,  dropped  into  the  Argus  office  late 
one  night  to  bring  news  of  an  "  event  "  to  the 
sporting  editor.  He  knew  his  way  about  in  the 
office,  and,  finding  Murren  was  not  in,  he  left 
the  item  on  his  table.  Then  he  wandered  into 
the  local  editor's  room.  The  newspaper  boys  all 
liked  Hammerly,  and  many  a  good  item  they  got 
from  him.  They  never  gave  him  away,  and  he 
saw  that  they  never  got  left,  as  the  vernacular 
is. 

"  Good-evening.  You're  the  new  local  editor, 
I  take  it.  I've  just  left  a  little  item  for  Murren, 
I  suppose  he's  not  in  from  the  wrestle  yet.  My 
name's  Hammerly.  All  the  boys  know  me 
and  I've  known  in  my  time  fourteen  of  your 
predecessors,  so  I  may  as  well  know  you. 
You're  from  Pittsburg.  I  hear." 

"  Yes.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Hammerly.  Do  you 
know  Pittsburg  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Borden,  who  keeps  the  gambling 
den  on  X  street,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Do 
you  happen  to  know  how  old  Borden's  getting 
along  ?  " 

"  Yes,  his  place  was  raided  and  closed  up  by 
the  police." 

"  That's  just  the  old  man's  luck.  Same  thing 
in  Kansas  City." 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Hammerly,  do  you  know 
of  any  gambling  houses  in  this  city  ?  " 

"  Why,  bless  you,  haven't  the  boys  taken  you 
round  yet.^  Well,  now,  that's  inhospitable. 
Mellish's  is  the  best  place  in  town.  I'm  going 
up  there  now.  If  you  come  along  with  me  rU 
give  you  the  knock-down  at  the  door  and  you'll 
have  no^trouble  after  that." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  McCrasky,  reaching 
for  his  hat,  and  so  the  innocent  Hammerly  led 
the  lamb  into  the  lion's  den. 

McCrasky,  unaccustomed  to  the  sight,  was 


V 


u 

and  man- 
office   late 
ent"  to  the 
ibout  in  the 
in,  he  left 
ndered  into 
.per  boys  all 
em  they  got 
vay,  and  he 
vernacular 

local  editor, 
for  Murren, 
Lie  yet.  My 
s  know  me 
teen  of  your 
know  you. 

:ly.     Do  you 

le  gambling 
f  mine.  Do 
den's  getting 

closed  up  by 

Same  thing 

o  you  know 

?  " 

)ys  taken  you 
inhospitable. 
I'm  going 
with  me  I'll 
lor  and  you'll 

sky,  reaching 
lammerly  led 

16  sight,  was 


^be  IRM  on  /BbeUfsb* 


195 


it 


somewhat  bewildered  with  the  rapidity  of  the 
play.  There  was  a  sort  of  semicircular  table» 
around  the  outside  rim  of  which  were  sitting 
as  many  men  as  could  be  comfortably  placed 
there.  A  man  at  the  inside  of  the  table  han- 
dled the  cards.  He  Micked  out  one  to  each 
player,  face  downward,  with  an  expertness  and 
speed  that  dazzled  McCrasky.  Next  he  dealt 
out  one  to  each  player  face  upward  and  people 
put  sums  of  money  on  the  table  beside  their 
cards,  after  looking  at  them.  There  was  an- 
other deal  and  so  on,  but  the  stranger  found  it 
impossible  to  understand  or  follow  the  game. 
Ho  saw  money  being  raked  in  and  paid  out 
rapiaiy  and  over  the  whole  affair  was  a  solemn 
decorum  that  he  had  not  been  prepared  for. 
He  had  expected  fierce  oaths  and  the  drawing 
of  revolvers. 

"  Here,  Mellish,"  said  the  innocent  Ham- 
merly,  "  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  new  local 
editor  of  the  Argus.  I  didn't  catch  your 
name,"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  My  name's  McCrasky." 

"  Mr.  McCrasky ;  Mr.  Mellish.  Mellish  is 
proprietor  here  and  you'll  find  him  a  first-rate 
fellow." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  Mellish 
quietly  ;  "  any  friend  of  Hammerly's  is  welcome. 
Make  yourself  at  home." 

Edging  away  from  the  two,  Mellish  said  in  a 
quick  whisper  to  Sotty,  the  bartender :  "  Go  and 
lell  the  doorkeeper  to  warn  Thompson,  or  any  of 
the  rest  of  the  Argus  boys,  that  their  boss  is  in 
here." 

At  12  o'clock  that  night  the  local  editor  sat  in 
his  room.  "  Is  that  you,  Thompson  .'*  "  he 
shouted,  as  he  heard  a  step. 

"  Yes,  sir ; "  answered  Thompson,  coming  into 
the  presence. 

"Shut  the  door,  Thompson.    Now  I  have 


I '      '•  ij 


*:: 


^•foh'W 


l(i.l 


r> 


196 


^be  face  anD  tbe  Aadft, 


a  big  thing  on  for  to-night,  but  it  must  be  done 
quietly.  I've  unearthed  a  gambling  den  in  full 
blast.  It  will  be  raided  to-night  at  2  o'clock. 
I  want  you  to  be  on  the  ground  with  Murren  ; 
will  you  need  anybody  else  ?  " 

"  Depends  on  how  much  you  wish  to  make 
of  it." 

"  1  want  to  make  it  the  feature  of  to-morrow's 
paper.  I  think  we  three  can  manage,  but  bring 
some  of  the  rest  if  you  like.  The  place  is  run 
by  a  man  named  Mellish.  Now,  if  you  boys 
kept  your  eyes  open  you  would  know  more  of 
what  is  going  on  in  your  own  city  than  you 
do." 

•*  We  haven't  all  had  the  advantage  of  metro- 
politan training,"  said  Thompson  humbly. 

"  I  will  go  there  with  the  police.  You  and 
Murren  had  better  be  on  the  ground,  but  don'tgo 
too  soon,  and  don't  make  yourselves  conspicu- 
ous or  they  might  take  alarm.  Here  is  the  ad- 
dress.    You  had  better  take  it  down." 

"Oh,    I'll   find   the    place  all "      Then 

Thompson  thought  a  moment  and  pulled  him- 
self together.  "  Thanks,"  he  said,  carefully 
noting  down  the  street  and  number. 

The  detachment  of  police  drew  up  in  front  of 
the  place  a  few  minutes  before  2  o'clock.  The 
streets  were  deserted,  and  so  silent  were  the 
blue  coats  that  the  footsteps  of  a  belated  way- 
farer sounded  sharply  in  the  night  air  from  the 
stone  pavement  of  a  distant  avenue. 

"  Are  you  sure,"  said  McCrasky  to  the  man  in 
charge  of  the  police,  "  that  there  is  not  a  private 
entrance  somewhere  ?  " 

*'  Certainly  there  is,"  was  the  impatient  reply : 
*'  Sergeant  McCollum  and  four  men  are  sta- 
tioned in  the  alley  behind.  We  know  our  busi- 
ness, sir." 

McCrasky  thought  this  was  a  snub,  and  he  was 
right.   He  looked  around  in  the  darkness  for  his 


9l{. 

List  be  done 
;  den  in  full 
t  2  o'clock, 
th  Murren ; 

ishto  make 

;o-morrow's 
e,  but  bring 
place  is  run 
f  you  boys 
low  more  of 
\f  than  you 

rt  of  metro- 
imbly. 

You  and 
but  don'tgo 
;s  conspicu- 
re  is  the  ad- 
n." 

- "  Then 
pulled  him- 
i,    carefully 


in  front  of 
clock.  The 
were  the 
elated  way- 
air  from  the 


the  man  in 
ot  a  private 

itient  reply : 
n  are  sta- 
w  our  busi- 

and  he  was 
ness  for  his 


^be  'RalD  on  /bellidb* 


197 


i 


reporters.     He  found  them  standing  together 
in  a  doorway  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 

"  Been  here  long  ?  "  he  whispered. 

Murren  was  gloomy  and  did  not  answer. 
The  religious  editor  removed  his  corn-cob  and 
said  briefly ;  "  About  ten  minutes,  sir." 
Thompson  was  gazing  with  interest  at  the  dark 
building  across  the  way. 

"  You've  seen  nobody  come  out  ?  " 

"Nobody.  On  the  contrary,  about  half  a 
dozen  have  gone  up  that  stairway." 

••  Is  that  the  place,  sir  }  "  asked  Thompson 
with  the  lamb-like  innocence  of  the  criminal 
reporter. 

"  Yes,  upstairs  there." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  the  religious 
editor.  "  Thompson  insisted  it  was  next 
door." 

"  Come  along,"  said  McCrasky,  "  the  police 
are  moving  at  last." 

A  big  bell  in  the  neighborhood  solemnly 
struck  two  slow  strokes,  and  all  over  the  city 
the  hour  sounded  in  various  degrees  of  tone 
and  speed.  A  whistle  rang  out  and  was  dis- 
tantly answered.  The  police  moved  quickly 
and  quietly  up  the  stairway. 

*'  Have  you  tickets,  gentlemen,"  asked  the 
man  at  the  door  politely ;  "  this  is  a  private 
assembly." 

"  The  police,"  said  the  sergeant  shortly,. 
"  stand  aside." 

If  the  police  were  astonished  at  the  sight 
which  met  their  '  ize,  their  faces  did  not  show 
it.  But  McCrask)  had  not  such  control  over 
his  features  and  he  looked  dumbfounded. 
The  room  was  the  same,  undoubtedly,  but 
there  was  not  the  vestige  of  a  card  to  be  seen. 
There  were  no  tables,  and  even  the  bar  had 
disappeared.  The  chairs  were  nicely  arran^'^ed 
and  most  of  them  were  occupied.    At  the  fur- 


I 


imr^ 


•J 


.'  f 


ti 


«jn 


)';l 


I  a 


A 


,1  'IW-I 


II 


m 


i» 


198 


^bc  jfaw    anD  tbe  /l^aefi. 


ther  end  of  the  room  Pony  Rowell  stood  on  a 
platform  or  on  a  box  or  some  elevation,  and 
his  pale,  earnest  face  was  lighted  up  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  public  speaker.  He  was 
saying : 

"  On  the  purity  of  the  ballot,  gentlemen,  de- 
pends the  very  life  of  the  republic.  That  every 
man  should  be  permitted,  without  interference 
or  intimidation,  to  cast  his  vote,  and  that  every 
vote  so  cast  should  be  honestly  counted  is,  I 
take  it,  the  desire  of  all  who  now  listen  to  my 
words."  (Great  applause,  during  which  Pony 
took  a  sip  from  a  glass  that  may  have  con- 
tained water.) 

The  police  had  come  in  so  quietly  that  no 
one,  apparently,  had  noticed  their  entrance,  ex- 
cept that  good  man  Mellish,  who  hurried  for- 
ward to  welcome  the  intruders. 

"  Will  you  take  a  seat  ?  "  he  asked.  "  We 
are  having  a  little  political  talk  from  Mr.  Row- 
ell, sergeant." 

"  Rather  an  unusual  hour,  Mr.  Mellish,"  said 
the  sergeant  grimly. 

"  It  IS  a  little  late,"  admitted  Mellish,  as  if 
the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  him  before. 

The  police  who  had  come  in  by  the  back  en- 
trance appeared  at  the  other  end  of  the  room 
and  it  was  evident  that  Rowell's  oration  had 
come  to  an  untimely  end.  Pony  looked  grieved 
and  hurt,  but  said  nothing. 

••  We  will  have  to  search  the  premises,  Mr. 
Mellish,"  said  the  sergeant. 

Mellish  gave  them  every  assistance,  but 
nothing  was  found. 

As  the  four  men  walked  back  together  to 
the  Argus  office,  McCrasky  was  very  indignant. 

"We  will  expose  the  police  to-morrow/' he 
said.     "  They  evidently  gave  Mellish  the  tip." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Thompson.  *•  We 
will  say  nothing  about  it." 


stood  on   a 

vation,  and 

up  with  the 

He   was 

itlemen,  de- 
That  every 
interference 
that  every 
>unted  is,  I 
sten  to  my 
ivhich  Pony 
^  have  con- 

;tly  that  no 
ntrance,  ex- 
lurried  for- 

:ed.  *♦  We 
I  Mr.  Row- 

illish,"  said 

ellish,  as  if 
ore. 

e  back  en- 
the  room 
ration  had 
ed  grieved 

mises,  Mr. 

tance,   but 

5gether  to 
indignant. 
Drrow,"  he 
the  tip." 
;n.     "  We 


( 


TTbc  Vaid  on  AhcUfeb. 


199 


"  You  forget  yourself,  Mr.  Thompson.  It 
rests  with  me  to  say  what  shall  go  on  the  local 
page.     Not  with  you." 

"  I  don't  forget  myself,"  answered  Thomp- 
son badly;  "I've  just  remembered  myself. 
The  Directors  of  the  A^^gus  appointed  me  local 
editor  yesterday.  Didn't  they  tell  you  about 
it?  That's  just  like  them.  They  forgot  to 
mention  the  fact  to  Corbin  that  he  had  been 
superseded  and  the  manager  went  off  fishing 
after  appointing  Jonsey  local  editor,  so  that  for 
a  week  we  had  two  local  editors,  each  one 
countermanding  the  orders  of  the  other.  It 
was  an  awful  week.  You  remember  it,  Mur- 
ren  ?  "  Murren's  groan  seemed  to  indicate  that 
his  recollection  of  the  exciting  time  was  not  a 
pleasant  memory. 

"  In  case  of  doubt,"  murmured  the  ♦•eligious 
editor,  this  time  without  removing  his  corn-cob, 
"  obey  the  orders  of  the  new  man  where  the 
Argus  is  concerned.  Thompson,  old  man,  I'm 
wid  you,     When  did  the  blow  fall  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  afternoon,"  said  Thompson,  al- 
most with  a  sob ;  "  Til  be  dismissed  within  a 
month,  so  I  am  rather  sorry.  I  liked  working 
on  the  Argus — as  a  reporter.  I  never  looked 
for  such  ill  luck  as  promotion.  But  we  all  have 
our  troubles,  haven't  vve,  Mac  }  " 

McCrasky  did  not  answer.  He  is  now  con- 
nected with  some  paper  in  Texas. 


^^^^ 


i' 


t 


y 


m  i 


k\  ill 


^^^mmmmtimm 


L^   ; 


p  i' ,  I 


'm.'t 


:n 


!  V 


Li 


STRIKING  BACK. 

George  Streeter  was  in  Paris,  because  he 
noped  and  expected  to  meet  Alfred  Davison 
there.  He  knew  that  Davison  was  going  to 
be  in  Paris  for  at  least  a  fortnight,  and  he  had 
a  particular  reason  for  wishing  to  come  across 
him  in  the  streets  of  that  city  rather  than  in  the 
streets  of  London. 

Streeter  was  a  young  author  who  had  pub- 
lished several  books,  and  who  was  getting  along 
as  well  as  could  be  expected,  until  suddenl  he 
met  a  check.  The  check  was  only  a  check  as 
far  as  his  own  self-esteem  was  concerned  ;  for 
u  did  not  in  the  least  retard  the  sale  of  his 
latest  book,  but  rather  appeared  to  increase  it. 
The  check  was  unexpected,  for  where  he  had 
looked  for  a  caress,  he  received  a  blow.  The 
blow  was  so  well  placed,  and  so  vigorous,  ti\at 
at  first  it  stunned  him.  Then  he  became  un- 
reasonably angry.    He  resolved  to  strike  back. 

The  review  of  his  book  in  the  Argus  was 
vigorously  severe,  and  perhaps  what  maddened 
him  more  than  anything  else  was  the  fact  that, 
in  spite  of  his  self-esteem  he  realized  the  truth 
of  the  criticism.  If  his  books  had  been  less 
successful,  or  if  he  had  been  newer  as  an  au- 
thor, he  might  possibly  have  set  himself  out  to 
profit  by  the  keen  thrusts  given^him  by  the  Argus. 
F*^  might  have  remembered  that  although  Ten- 
nj  on  struck  back  at  Christopher  North,  calling 
him  rusty,  crusty,  and  musty,  yet  the  poet  elim- 


m 


Sttiliind  :Ji3acfi* 


201 


because  he 
;d  Davison 
s  going  to 
md  he  had 
ome  across 
than  in  the 

o  had  pub- 
etting  along 
suddenly  he 
a  check  as 
icerned ;  for 
sale  of  his 
increase  it. 
lere  he  had 
blow.    The 
gorous,  ti\at 
became  un- 
strike  back. 
Argus  was 
t  maddened 
le  fact  that, 
id  the  truth 
d  been  less 
as  an  au- 
self  out  to 
ly  the  Argus, 
hough  Ten- 
orth,  calling 
e  poet  elim- 


inated from  later  editions  all  blemishes  which 
musty  Christopher  had  pointed  out. 

Streeter  resolved  to  strike  back  with  some- 
thing more  tangible  than  a  sarcastic  verse.  He 
quite  admitted,  even  to  himself,  that  a  critic  had 
every  right  to  crititise — that  was  what  he  was 
for — but  he  claimed  that  a  man  who  pretended 
to  be  an  author's  friend  and  who  praised  his 
books  to  his  face,  had  no  right  to  go  behind  his 
back  and  pen  a  criticism  so  scathing  as  that 
which  appeared  in  the  Argus :  for  Streeter 
knew  that  Alfred  Davison  had  written  the  criti- 
cism in  the  Argus,  and  Davison  had  posed  as 
his  friend  ;  and  had  pretended  as  well,  that  he 
had  a  great  admiration  for  Streeter's  books. 

As  Streeter  walked  down  the  Boulevard  des 
Italians,  he  saw,  seated  in  front  of  a  cafe,  the 
man  whom  he  hoped  to  meet :  and  further- 
more, he  was  pleased  to  see  that  the  man  had 
a  friend  with  him.  The  recognition  of  author 
and  critic  was  mutual. 

"  Hallo,  Streeter, "  cried  Davison  ;  "  when 
did  you  come  over  ?  *' 

"  I  left  London  yesterday,"  answered  Streeter. 

"  Then  sit  down  and  have  something  with 
us,"  said  Davison,  cordially.  "  Streeter,  this  is 
my  friend  Harmon.  He  is  an  exile  and  a  resi- 
dent in  Paris,  and,  consequently,  likes  to  meet 
his  countrymen." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Streeter,  "  he  is  proba- 
bly well  acquainted  with  the  customs  of  the 
place  ?  " 

"  Rather  !  "  returned  Davison  ;  "  he  has 
become  so  much  of  a  Frenchman — he  has  been 
so  contaminated,  if  I  may  put  it  that  way — that 
I  believe  quite  recently  he  was  either  principal 
or  second  in  a  duel.  By  the  way,  which  was 
it,  Harmon  ?  " 

"  Merely  a  second,"  answered  the  other. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  duelling  myself,"  contin- 


f! 


i 


'Uf^ 


H-,^! 


:f?   ' 


;  M 


!•  ( 


I  m  I '?' 


■1  ( 


I 


I 


h 


202 


^be  ^ace  and  tbe  /Ihadfi. 


tied  Davison  ;  "  it  seems  to  me  an  idiotic  cus» 
torn,  and  so  futile." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  replied  Streeter, 
curtly  ;  "  there  is  no  reason  why  a  duel  should 
be  futile,  and  there  seem  to  be  many  reasons 
■why  a  duel  might  be  fought.  There  are  many 
things,  worse  than  crimes,  which  exist  in  all 
countries,  and  for  which  there  is  no  remedy 
except  calling  a  man  out ;  misdemeanors,  if 
I  may  so  term  them,  that  the  law  takes  no  cog- 
nisance of ;  treachery,  for  instance  ; — a  person 
pretending  to  be  a  man's  friend,  and  then  the 
first  chance  he  gets,  stabbing  him  in  the  back." 

Harmon  nodded  his  approval  of  these  sen- 
timents, while  Davison  said  jauntily  : 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that !  It  seems  to 
me  these  things,  which  I  suppose  undoubtedly 
exist,  should  not  be  made  important  by  taking 
much  notice  of  them.  What  will  you  have  to 
drink,  Streeter  }  " 

"  Bring  me  a  liqueur  of  brandy,"  said  Streeter 
tothegar^on  who  stood  ready  to  take  the  or- 
der. 

When  the  waiter  returned  with  a  small  glass, 
into  which  he  poured  the  brandy  with  the 
deftness  of  a  Frenchman,  filling  it  so  that  not  a 
drop  more  could  be  added,  and  yet  without  al- 
lowing the  glass  to  overflow,  Streeter  pulled 
out  his  purse. 

"No,  no  !"  cried  Davison;  "you  are  not 
going  to  pay  for  this — you  are  drinking  with 
me." 

"  I  pay  for  my  own  drinks,"  said  Streeter, 
surlily. 

"  Not  when  I  invite  you  to  drink  with  me," 
protested  the  critic.     '*  I  pay  for  this  brandy." 

"Very  well,  take  it,  then!"  said  Streeter, 
picking  up  the  little  glass  and  dashing  the  con- 
tents in  the  face  of  Davison. 

Davison  took  out  his  handkerchief. 


ih 


pj .  I 


w 


idiotic  cust 

d  Streeter, 
duel  should 
ny   reasons 
;  are  many 
exist  in  all 
no  remedy 
meanors,    if 
kes  no  cog- 
;— a  person 
nd  then  the 
1  the  back." 
i  these  sen- 

r    • 

It  seems  to 
undoubtedly 
It  by  taking 
you  have  to 

said  Streeter 
take  the  or- 

1  small  glass, 
idy  with  the 
so  that  not  a 
t  without  al- 
reeter  pulled 

you   are  not 
drinking  with 

said  Streeter. 

ik  with  me,'* 
his  brandy." 
aid   Streeter, 

ling  the  con- 

lief. 


Strifiin^  JQac\{* 


;1 


203 


■■  I 


**  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that, 
Streeter?  "  he  asked,  as  the  color  mounted  to 
his  brow. 

Streeter  took  out  his  card  and  pencilled  a 
word  or  two  on  the  pasteboard. 

•*  There,"  he  said,  "  :s  my  Paris  address. 
If  you  do  not  know  what  I  mean  by  that,  ask 
your  friend  here  ;  he  will  inform  you." 

And  with  that  the  novelist  arose,  bowed  to 
the  two,  and  departed. 

When  he  returned  to  his  hotel,  after  a  stroll 
along  the  brilliantly-lighted  Boulevards,  he 
found  waiting  for  him  Mr.  Harmon  and  a 
Frenchman. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  would  come  so  soon," 
said  Streeter,  '•  otherwise  I  would  not  have  kept 
you  waiting." 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  replied  Harmon  ;  "  we 
have  not  waited  long.  Affairs  of  this  kind  re- 
quire prompt  action.  An  insult  lasts  but 
twenty-four  hours,  and  my  friend  and  prin- 
cipal has  no  desire  to  put  you  to  the  inconven- 
ience of  repeating  your  action  of  this  evening. 
We  are  taking  it  for  granted  that  you  have  a 
friend  prepared  to  act  for  you ;  for  your  con- 
duct appeared  to  be  premeditated." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  answered  Streeter  ; 
"  I  have  two  friends  to  whom  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  introduce  you.  Come  this  way,  if  you  will  be 
so  kind." 

The  preliminaries  were  speedily  arranged, 
and  the  meeting  was  to  take  place  next  morn- 
ing at  daylight,  with  pistols. 

Now  that  everything  was  settled,  the  pros- 
pect did  not  look  quite  so  pleasant  to  Streeter 
as  it  had  done  when  he  left  London.  Davison 
had  asked  for  no  explanation ;  but  that,  of 
course,  could  be  accounted  for,  because  this 
critical  sneak  must  be  well  aware  of  the  reason 
for  the  insult.    Still,   Streeter  had  rather  ex- 


♦ 

i    I 

1 
■"I 


;  * 


.1: 


\A     ' 


U    ;■ 


i-r     1 


I  I 


^ii'^ 


204 


XLbc  jface  and  tbe  /iSadfi. 


pected  that  he  would  perhaps  have  simulated 
Ignorance,  and  on  receiving  enlightenment  might 
have  avoided  a  meeting  to  apologizing. 

Anyhow,  Streeter  resolved  to  make  a  night 
of  it.  He  left  his  friends  to  arrange  for  a  car- 
riage, and  see  to  all  that  was  necessary,  while 
he  donned  his  war-paint  and  departed  for  a 
gathering  to  which  he  had  been  invited,  and 
where  he  wa.  to  meet  many  of  his  country- 
men and  countrywomen,  in  a  fashionable  part 
of  Paris. 

His  hostess  appeared  to  be  overjoyed  at  see- 
ing him. 

"  You  are  so  late,"  she  said,  "  that  I  was 
afraid  something  had  occurred  to  keep  you  from 
coming  altogether." 

"  Nothing  could  have  prevented  me  from 
coming,"  said  Streeter,  gallantly,  •'  where  Mrs. 
Woodford  is  hostess  ! " 

**  Oh,  that  is  very  nice  of  you,  Mr.  Streeter  !  " 
answered  the  lady ;  "  but  I  must  not  stand  here 
talking  with  you,  for  I  have  promised  to  intro- 
duce you  to  Miss  Neville,  who  wishes  very 
much  to  meet  you.  She  is  a  great  admirer  of 
yours,  and  has  read  all  your  books." 

"  There  are  not  very  many  of  them,"  said 
Streeter,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  and  such  as  they  are, 
I  hope  Miss  Neville  thinks  more  of  them  than 
I  do  myself." 

"  Oh,  we  all  know  how  modest  authors  are  ! " 
replied  his  hostess,  leading  him  away  to  be 
introduced. 

Miss  Neville  was  young  and  pretty,  and  she 
was  evidently  pleased  to  meet  the  rising  young 
author. 

"  I  have  long  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
"  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about  your  books." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Streeter,  "but 
perhaps  we  might  choose  something  more  profit- 
able to  talk  about  ?  " 


\] 


QXxMrxQ  oiSacfi* 


205 


simulated 
lent  might 

ce  a  night 
for  a  car- 
iary,  while 
rted  for  a 
ivited,  and 
s  country- 
nable  part 

ed  at  see- 
hat  I  was 
ip  you  from 

i  me  from 
/here   Mrs. 

Streeter ! " 

t  stand  here 

fd  to   intro- 

ishes  very 

admirer  of 

[hem,"   said 

IS  they  are, 

them  than 

thors  are ! " 
Iway  to  be 

[ty,  and  she 

[sing  young 

I,"  she  said, 
books." 
[tier,   "but 
lore  profit- 


*'  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Doubtless  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  hear  only  the  nice 
things  people  say  about  you.  That  is  the  mis- 
fortune of  many  authors." 

"  It  is  a  misfortune,"  answered  Streeter. 
"  What  a  writer  needs  is  somebody  to  tell  him 
the  truth." 

"  Ah  *  "  said  Miss  Neville,  "  that  is  another 
thing  I  am  not  so  sure  about.  Mrs.  Woodford 
has  told  you,  I  suppose,  that  I  have  read  all 
your  books  ?  Did  she  add  that  I  detested 
them  ?  " 

Even  Streeter  was  not  able  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  this  remark  caused  him  some  surprise. 
He  laughed  uneasily,  and  said  : 

"  On  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Woodford  led  me  to 
believe  that  you  had  liked  them." 

The  girl  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked 
at  him  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Woodford  does 
not  know.  It  is  not  likely  that  I  would  tell  her 
I  detested  your  books  while  I  asked  for  an  in- 
troduction to  you.  She  took  it  for  granted 
that  I  meant  to  say  pleasant  things  to  you, 
whereas  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  do  the  ex- 
act reverse.  No  one  would  be  more  shocked 
than  Mrs.  Woodford — unless,  perhaps,  it  is 
yourself — if  she  knew  I  was  going  to  speak 
frankly  with  you." 

"  [  am  not  shocked,"  said  the  young  man, 
seriously ;  *'  I  recognize  that  there  are  many 
things  in  my  books  that  are  blemishes." 

"  Of  course  you  don't  mean  that,"  said  the 
frank  young  woman  ;  "  because  if  you  did  you 
would  not  repeat  the  faults  in  book  after  book." 

*'  A  man  can  but  do  his  best,''  said  Streeter, 
getting  annoyed  in  spite  of  himself,  for  no  man 
takes  kindly  to  the  candid  friend.  "  A  man 
can  but  do  his  best,  as  Hubert  said,  whose 
grandsire  drew  a  lont^bow  at  Hastings." 


II 

ii 


m 

(if  1 
r;] 

i  ''it 

hi: 


206 


Zbc  jf ace  and  tbe  /Dbaeh* 


l*^  } 


i    /<'■  I 


te'i*  ,0 


!';<.''' 


^     . 


^'^'fl 


11  li) 


I 


);! 


"  Yes,"  returned  Miss  Neville,  **  a  man  can 
but  do  his  best,  although  we  should  remember 
that  the  man  who  said  that,  said  it  just  before 
he  was  defeated.  What  I  feel  is  that  you  are 
not  doing  yorr  best,  and  that  you  will  not  do 
your  best  untii  some  objectionable  person  like 
myself  has  a  good  serious  talk  with  you." 

"  Begin  the  serious  talk,"  said  Streeter  ;  "  I 
am  ready  and  eager  to  listen." 

"  Did  you  read  the  review  of  your  latest  book 
which  appeared  in  the  Argus  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  Streeter,  somewhat  startled — 
the  thought  of  the  meeting  that  was  so  close, 
which  he  had  forgotton  for  the  moment,  flash- 
ing over  him.  "  Yes,  I  did  ;  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  the  person  who  wrote  it 
this  evening." 

Miss  Neville  almost  jumped  in  her  chair. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  intend  you  to  know  that ! " 
she  said.  "  Who  told  you  ?  How  did  you 
find  out  that  I  wrote  reviews  for  the  Argus  ?  " 

"  You  ! "  cried  Streeter,  astonished  in  his  turn. 
'*  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  wrote  that  re- 
view  ? 

Miss  Neville  sank  back  in  her  chair  with  a 
sigh. 

"  There  ! "  she  said, "  my  impetuosity  has,  as 
the  Americans  say,  given  me  away.  After  all, 
you  did  not  know  I  was  the  writer !  " 

"  J  thought  Davison  was  the  writer.  I  had 
it  on  the  very  best  authority." 

"  Poor  Davison  !  "  said  Miss  Neville,  laugh- 
ing, "  why,  he  is  one  of  the  best  and  staunchest 
friends  you  have  :  and  so  am  I,  for  that  matter — 
indeed,  I  am  even  more  your  friend  than  Mr. 
Davison ;  for  I  think  you  can  do  good  work, 
while  Mr.  Davison  is  foolish  enough  to  believe 
you  are  doing  it." 

At  this  point  in  the  convereation  Streeter 
looked  hurriedly  at  his  watch. 


!f •!  ;.? 


Strifting  J6ach. 


207 


man  can 
remember 
ust  before 
hat  you  are 
will  not  do 
person  like 

you." 
Teeter  ; 


I 


•  latest  book 

at  startled— 
as  so  close, 
)ment,  flash- 
1  had  the 
;ho  wrote  it 

T  chair, 
know  that!' 
ow  did  you 
the  Argus  ?  " 
rd  in  his  turn, 
rote  that  re- 
chair  with  a 

losity  has,  as 
y.    After  all, 

!" 

i^riter.    I  bad 

eville,  laugh- 
id  staunchest 
hat  matter — 
nd  than  Mr. 
good  work, 
gh  to  believe 

Ition  Streeter 


"  Ah !  I  see,"  said  Miss  Neville  ;  "  this  conver- 
sation is  not  to  your  taste.  You  are  going  to 
plead  an  appointment — as  if  anyone  could 
have  an  appointment  at  this  hour  in  the  morn- 
mg! 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Streeter,  "  I  have;  and 
I  must  bid  you  good-bye.  But  I  assure  you  that 
my  eyes  have  been  opened,  and  that  I  have 
learned  a  lesson  to-night  which  I  will  not  soon 
forget.  I  hope  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you  again,  and  continuing  this  conversation. 
Perhaps  some  time  I  may  tell  you  why  I  have  to 
leave." 

Streeter  found  his  friends  waiting  for  him. 
He  knew  it  was  no  use  trying  to  see  Davison 
before  the  meeting.  There  was  a  long  drive 
ahead  of  them,  and  it  was  grey  daylight  when 
they  reached  the  ground,  where  they  found  the 
other  party  waiting. 

Each  man  took  his  place  and  the  pistol  that 
was  handed  to  him.  When  the  word  "  Fire  !  " 
was  given,  Streeter  dropped  his  hand  to 
his  side.  Davison  stood  with  his  pistol  still 
pointed,  but  he  did  not  fire. 

"  Why  don't  you  shoot,  George  ? "  said 
Davison. 

Harmon,  at  this  point,  rebuked  his  principal, 
and  said  he  must  have  no  communication  with 
the  other  except  through  a  second. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Davison,  impatiently,  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  the  rules  of  this  idiotic  game !  " 

Streeter  stepped  forward. 

"  I  merely  wished  to  give  you  the  opportunity 
of  firing  at  me  if  you  cared  to  do  so,"  he  said ; 
"  and  now  I  desire  to  apologize  for  my  action 
at  the  cafe.  I  may  say  that  what  I  did  was  done 
under  a  misapprehension.  Anything  that  I  can 
do  to  make  reparation  I  am  willing  to  do," 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right ! "  said  Davison  ;  "  no- 
thing more  need  be  said.     I  am  perfectly  satis- 


';f 


i  ^' 


-A,  .!.■: 


208 


XTbe  face  anD  tbe  Abasli* 


fied.     Let  us  get  back  to  the  city  ;  I  find  it  some- 
what chilly  out  here." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Harmon,  with  a  sigh, 
*'  Englishmen  have  the  cheek  to  talk  of  the 
futility  of  French  duels  !  " 


P4 


^:;(-- 


nd  it  some- 

h    a   sigh, 
alk  of  the 


\\ 


CRANDALL'S  CHOICE. 

John  Crandall  sat  at  his  office  desk  and 
thought  the  situation  over.  Everybody  had 
gone  and  he  was  in  the  office  alone.  Crandall 
was  rather  tired  and  a  little  sleepy,  so  he  was 
inclined  to  take  a  gloomy  view  of  things.  Not 
that  there  was  anything  wrong  with  his  busi- 
ness ;  in  fact,  it  was  in  a  first-rate  condition  so 
far  as  it  \ .  ent,  but  it  did  not  go  far  enough ; 
that  was  what  John  thought  as  he  brooded  over 
his  affairs.  He  was  making  money,  of  course, 
but  the  trouble  was  that  he  was  not  making  it 
fast  enough. 

As  he  thought  of  these  things  John  gradually 
and  imperceptibly  went  to  sleep,  and  while  he 
slept  he  dreamt  a  dream.  It  would  be  quite 
easy  to  pretend  that  the  two  persons  who  came 
to  him  in  the  vision,  actually  entered  the  office 
and  that  he  thought  them  regular  customers  or 
something  of  that  sort,  while  at  the  end  of  the 
story,  when  everybody  was  bewildered,  the 
whole  matter  might  be  explained  by  announc- 
ing the  fact  that  it  was  all  a  dream,  but  this  ac- 
count being  a  true  and  honest  one,  no  such 
artifice  will  be  used  and  at  the  very  beginning 
the  admission  is  made  that  John  was  the  victim 
of  a  vision. 

In  this  dream  two  very  beautiful  ladies  ap- 
proached him.  One  was  richly  dressed  and 
wore  the  most  dazzling  jewelry.  The  other 
was  clad  in  plain  attire.     At  first,  the  dreaming 


\liW 


I  '    I 


'< 


210 


tlbc  ^acc  anO  tbc  /Iftaeft, 


i'/f 


'II  1  ',; 


I    ;:l; 


\i 


Mr.  Crandall  thought,  or  dreamt  he  thought, 
that  the  richly  dressed  one  was  the  prettier. 
She  was  certainly  very  attractive,  but,  as  she 
came  closer,  John  imagined  that  much  of  her 
beauty  was  artificial.  He  said  to  himself  that 
she  painted  artistically  perhaps,  but  at  any  rate 
she  laid  it  on  rather  thick. 

About  the  other  there  was  no  question.  She 
was  a  beauty,  and  what  loveliness  she  pos- 
sessed was  due  to  the  bounties  of  Providence 
and  not  to  the  assistance  of  the  chemist.  She 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Mr.  Crandall,"  she  said,  in  the  sweetest  of 
voices,  "  we  have  come  here  together  so  that 
you  may  choose  between  us.  Which  one  will 
you  have  ?  " 

*'  Bless  me,"  said  Crandall,  so  much  surprised 
at  the  unblushing  proposal  that  he  nearly 
awoke  himself,  "  bless  me,  don't  you  know  that 
I  am  married  ?  " 

"  Oh,  t/zai  doesn't  matter,"  answered  the  fair 
young  lady,  with  the  divinest  of  smiles. 

"  Doesn't  it  ?  ''  said  Mr.  Crandall.  "  If  yott 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs.  Crandall  I 
think  you  would  find  that  it  did — very  much  in- 
deed." 

"  But  we  are  not  mortals  ;  we  are  spirits," 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  Well,  of  course  that  makes 
a  difference,"  replied  Mr.  Crandall  much  re- 
lieved, for  he  began  to  fear  from  the  turn  the 
conversation  had  taken  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  two  writers  of  modern  novels. 

"  This  lady."  continued  the  first  speaker,  "  is 
the  spirit  of  wealth.  If  you  chocse  her  you  will 
be  a  very  rich  man  before  you  die." 

"  Oh,  ho ! "  cried  Crandall.  "  Are  you  sure 
of  that  ?  " 

"  Quite  certain." 

"Well,  then  I  won't  be  long  making  my 
choice.    I  choose  her,  of  course." 


iili 


111 ,  i:  \'- 


I* 

\c  thought, 
he  prettier, 
but,  as  she 
luch  of  her 
[limseU  that 
at  any  rate 

estion.  She 
ss  she  pos- 
;  Providence 
lemist.    She 

:  sweetest  o! 
ither  so  that 
hich  one  will 

luch  surprised 
t  he  nearly 
ou  know  that 

wered  the  fair 

miles. 

dall.    "IfyoH 

s.  Crandall  I 

very  much  in- 

ire  spirits," 
,e  that  makes 
all  much  re- 
the  turn  the 
was  in  the 
novels. 

.  speaker,  "  is 
ie  her  you  will 

ire  you  sure 


making   my 


CrauDairs  Cboice* 


211 


'•  But  you  don't  know  who  I  am.  Perhaps 
when  you  know,  you  may  wish  to  reverse  your 
decision." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  the  spirit  of  power  or  of 
fame  or  something  of  that  sort.  1  am  not  an 
ambitious  person ;  money  is  good  enough  for 
me." 

"  No.  I  am  the  spirit  of  health.  Think  well 
before  you  make  your  choice.  Many  have  re- 
jected me,  and  afterwards,  have  offered  all 
their  possessions  fruitlessly,  hoping  to  lure  me 
to  them." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Crandall,  with  some  hesita- 
tion. "  You  are  a  very  pleasant  young  person 
to  have  around  the  house.  But  why  cannot  I 
have  both  of  you  ?  How  does  //laf  strike 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  am  not  permitted  to 
give  you  the  choice  of  both." 

**  Why  is  that  ?  Many  people  are  allowed  to 
choose  both." 

"  I  know  that ;  still  we  must  follow  our  in- 
structions." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  case,  without  wishing  to 
offend  you  in  the  least,  I  think  I  will  stand  by 
my  first  choice.     I  choose  wealth." 

As  he  said  this  the  other  lady  advanced  tow- 
ard him  and  smiled  somewhat  triumphantly  as 
she  held  out  her  hand.  Crandall  grasped  it 
and  the  first  spirit  sighed.  Just  as  the  spirit  of 
wealth  seemed  about  to  speak,  there  was  .a 
shake  at  the  office  door,  and  Mr.  John  Crandall 
saw  the  spirits  fade  away.  He  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  said  to  himself :  "  By  George  !  1  have  been 
asleep.  What  a  remarkably  vivid  dream  that 
was." 

As  he  yawned  and  stretched  his  arms  above 
his  head,  the  impatient  rattle  at  the  door  told 
him  that  at  least  was  not  a  part  of  the  dream. 

He  arose  and  unlocked  the  door. 


.,  ■!*•■' 


'(       ! 


'•!.:!. 


Li^^. 


m 


212 


^be  jface  and  tbe  Aasfi. 


"  Hello,  Mr.  Bullion,"  he  said,  as  that  solid 
man  came  in.     "  You're  late,  aren't  you." 

"  Why,  for  that  matter,  so  are  you.  You 
must  have  been  absorbed  in  your  accounts  or 
you  would  have  heard  me  sooner.  I  thought  I 
would  have  to  shake  the  place  down." 

"  Well,  you  know,  the  policeman  sometimes 
tries  the  door  and  I  thought  at  first  it  was  he. 
Won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  Thanks  !  Don't  care  if  I  do.  Busy  to- 
night ?  " 

"Just  got  through." 

"  Well,  how  are  things  going  ?  " 

**  Oh,  slowly  as  usual.  Slowly  because  we 
have  not  facilities  enough,  but  we've  got  all 
the  work  we  can  do." 

"  Does  it  pay  you  for  what  work  you  do  ?  " 

''Certainly.  I'm  not  in  this  business  as  a 
philanthropist,  you  know." 

"  No.  I  didn't  suppose  you  were.  Now, 
see  here,  Crandall,  I  think  you  have  a  good 
thing  of  it  here  and  one  of  the  enterprises  that 
if  extended  would  develop  into  a  big  business." 

"  I  know  it.  But  what  am  I  to  do  }  I  ve 
practically  no  capital  to  enlarge  the  business, 
and  I  don't  care  to  mortgage  what  I  have  and 
pay  a  high  rate  of  interest  'when,  just  at  the 
critical  moment,  we  might  have  a  commercial 
crisis  and  I  would  then  lose  everything." 

"  Quite  right ;  quite  right,  and  a  safe  princi- 
ple. Well,  that's  what  I  came  to  see  you 
about.  I  have  had  my  eye  on  you  and  this 
factory  for  some  time.  Now,  if  you  want  cap- 
ital I  will  furnish  it  on  the  condition  that  an 
accountant  of  mine  examines  the  books  and 
finds  everything  promising  a  fair  return  for 
enlarging  the  business.  Of  course  I  take  your 
word  for  the  state  of  affairs  al'  right  enough, 
but  business  is  business,  you  know,  and  besides 
I  want  to  get  an  expert  oDinion  on  how  much 


I 


k. 

3  that  solid 

you." 

you.     You 

accounts  or 

I  thought  1 

[1." 

1  sometimes 

it  it  was  he. 
I.    Busy  to- 


because  we 
^e've   got  all 

:  you  do  ?  " 
usiness  as   a 

were.     Now, 
have  a  good 
iterprises  that 
ig  business." 
to  do  ?     1  ve 
the  business, 
it  1  have  and 
p,  just   at  the 
|a  commercial 

;hing." 
safe  princi- 
to    see  you 
you  and  this 
bu  want  cap- 
lition   that  an 
e  books  and 
|ir  return  for 
I  take  your 
ight  enough, 
,  and  besides 
n  how  much 


CtanDairs  Cboice* 


213 


enlargement  it  will  stand.  I  suppose  you 
could  manage  a  manufactory  ten  or  twenty 
times  larger  as  easily  as  you  do  this  one." 

"Quite,"  said  Mr.  Crandall. 

"  Then  what  do  you  say  to  my  coming  round 
to-morrow  at  9  with  my  man  ?  " 

"  That  would  suit  me  all  right." 

Mr.  John  Crandall  walked  home  a  very  much 
elated  man  that  night. 


"  Well,  doctor,"  said  the  patient  in  a  very 
weak  voice,  "  what  is  the  verdict  !  " 

"  It  is  just  as  I  said  before.  You  will  have 
o  take  a  rest.  You  Inow  I  predicted  this 
oreakdown." 

"  Can't  you  give  me  something  that  will  fix 
me  up  temporarily?  It  is  almost  imperative 
that  I  should  stay  on  just  now." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  It  has  been  so  for  the  last 
five  years.  You  forget  that  m  that  time  you 
have  been  fixed  up  temporarily  on  several  occa- 
sions. Now,  I  will  get  you  'round  so  that  you 
can  travel  in  a  few  days  and  then  I  insist  on  a 
sea  voyage  or  a  quiet  time  somewhere  on  the 
continent.  You  will  have  to  throw  off  business 
careii  entirely.  There  are  no  ifs  or  buts  about 
it." 

"  Look  here,  doctor,  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to 
leave  at  this  time.  I  have  been  as  bad  as  this 
a  dozen  times  before.  Vou  know  that.  I'm 
just  a  little  fagged  out  and  when  I  go  back  to 
the  office  I  can  take  things  easier.  You  see, 
we  have  a  big  South  American  contract  on  hand 
that  I  am  very  anxious  about.  New  business, 
you  know." 

"  I  suppose  you  could  draw  your  cheque  for 
a  pretty  large  amount,  Mr.  Crandall." 

"  Yes,  I  can.  If  money  can  bridge  the  thing 
over,  I  will  irrange  it." 


I 


W: 


\i 

: 

|:ll 

'1' 

1i}i 

If 

■  i 

4 

214 


^be  ^ace  anD  tbe  Aasfi. 


"  Well,  money  can't.  What  I  wanted  to  say 
was  that  if,  instead  of  having  a  large  sum  in  the 
bank,  you  had  overdrawn  your  account  about 
as  much  as  the  bank  would  stand,  would  you 
be  surprised  if  your  cheque  were  not  hon- 
ored ?  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't." 

"  Well,  that  is  your  state  physically.  You've 
overdrawn  your  vitality  account.  You've  got  to 
make  a  deposit.     You  must  take  a  vacation." 

"Any  other  time,  doctor.  I'll  go  sure,  as 
soon  as  this  contract  is  off.  Upon  my  word 
I  will.  You  needn't  shake  your  head.  A  vaca- 
tion just  now  would  only  aggravate  the  diffi- 
culty. I  wouldn't  have  a  moment's  peace 
knowing  this  South  American  business  might 
be  bungled.     I'd  worry  myself  to  death." 

The  funeral  of  Mr.  Crandall  was  certainly 
one  of  the  most  splendid  spectacles  the  city  had 
seen  for  many  a  day.  The  papers  all  spoke 
highly  of  the  qualities  of  the  dead  manufact- 
urer, whose  growth  had  been  typical  of  the 
growth  of  the  city.  The  eloquent  minister  spoke 
of  the  inscrutable  ways  of  Providence  in  cutting 
off  a  man  in  his  prime,  and  in  the  very  height  of 
his  usefulness. 


THE  FAILURE  OF  BRADLEY, 


The  skater  lightly  laughs  and  glides, 
Unknowing  that  beneath  the  ice 
On  which  he  carves  his  fair  device 

A  stiffened  corpse  in  silence  glides. 


'■I  ■  ■ 


It  glareth  upward  at  his  play  ; 
Its  cold,  blue,  rigid  fingers  steal 
Beneath  the  tracings  of  his  heel. 

It  floats  along  and  floats  away. 

— Unknown  Poem. 


"  If  I  only  had  the  courage,"  said  Bradley, 
as  he  looked  over  the  stone  parapet  of  the  em- 
bankment at  the  dark  waters  of  the  Thames 
as  they  flashed  for  a  moment  under  the  glitter 
of  the  gaslight  and  then  disappeared  in  the 
black  night  to  flash  again  farther  down. 

"  Very  likely  I  would  struggle  to  get  out 
again  the  moment  I  went  over,"  he  muttered 
to  himself.  "  But  if  no  help  came  it  would  all 
be  done  with,  in  a  minute.  Two  minutes  per- 
haps. I'll  warrant  those  two  minutes  would 
see-ii  an  eternity.  I  would  see  a  hundred  ways 
of  making  a  living,  if  I  could  only  get  out  again. 
Why  can't  I  see  one  now  while  I  am  out.  My 
father  committed  suicide,  why  shouldn't  I  ?  I 
suppose  it  runs  in  the  family.  There  seems  to 
come  a  time  when  it  is  the  only  way  out,  I 
wonder  if  he  hesitated  ?  I'm  a  coward,  that's 
the  trouble." 


■mi 


U- '  '4! 


( 


V II .  t 


U    H 


*  'I 


216 


^be  face  and  tbe  Aa^ft* 


After  a  moment's  hesitation  the  man  slowly 
climbed  on  the  top  of  the  stone  wall  and  then 
paused  again.  He  looked  with  a  shudder  at 
the  gloomy  river. 

"I'll  do  it,''  he  cried  aloud,  and  was  about  to 
slide  down,  when  a  hand  grasped  his  arm  and 
a  voice  said : 

"  lV/ialw\\\  you  do?" 

In  the  light  of  the  gas-lamp  Bradley  saw  a 
man  whose  face  seemed  familiar  and  although 
he  thought  rapidly,  "  Where  have  I  seen  that 
man  before  ?  "  he  could  not  place  him. 

**  Nothing,"  answered  Bradley  sullenly. 

**  That's  right,"  was  the  answer.  "  I'd  do 
nothing  of  that  kind,  if  I  w^ere  you." 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't.  You  have  every- 
thing that  I  haven't — food,  clothes,  shelter. 
Certainly  you  wouldn't.     Why  should  you  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you,  if  it  comes  to  that }  " 

"  Because  ten  shillings  stands  between  me 
and  a  job.  That's  why,  if  you  v/ant  to  know. 
There's  eight  shillings  railway  fare,  a  shilling 
for  something  to  eat  to-night  and  a  shilling  for 
something  in  the  morning.  But  I  haven't  the 
ten  shillings.     So  that's  why." 

"  If  I  give  you  the  ten  shillings  what  assur- 
ance have  I  that  you  will  not  go  and  get  drunk 
on  it }  " 

"  None  at  all.  I  have  not  asked  you  for  ten 
shillings,  nor  for  one.  I  have  simply  answered 
your  question." 

"  That  is  true.  I  will  give  you  a  pound  if 
you  will  take  it,  and  so  if  unfortunately  you 
spent  half  of  it  in  cheering  yourself,  you  will 
still  have  enough  left  to  get  that  job.  What 
is  the  job  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  carpenter." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  the  pound." 

"  I  will  take  it  gladly.  But,  mind  you,  I  am 
not  a  beggar.     I  will  take  it  if  you  give  me  your 


M^ 

Wm 


1    . 


^bc  failure  of  3BtaMei?. 


217 


address,  so  that  I  may  send  it  back  to  you  when. 
I  earn  it." 

By  this  time  Bradley  had  come  down  on  the 
pavement.    The  other  man  laughed  quietly. 

"  I  cannot  agree  to  that.  You  are  welcome 
to  tne  money.  More  if  you  like.  I  merely 
douplcd  the  sum  you  mentioned  to  provide  for 
anything  unseen." 

"  Unless  you  let  me  return  it,  I  will  not  take 
the  money." 

"  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  your  honesty.. 
If  I  had  not,  I  would  not  offer  the  money.  I 
cannot  give  you  my  address,  or,  rather,  I  will 
not.  If  you  will  pay  the  pound  to  some  charity 
or  will  give  it  to  someone  who  is  in  need,  I  am 
more  than  satisfied.  If  you  give  it  to  the  right 
man  and  tell  him  to  do  the  same,  the  pound 
will  do  more  good  than  ever  it  will  in  my 
pocket  or  in  my  usual  way  of  spending  it." 

"  But  how  are  you  to  know  1  will  do   that  ?  " 

"  I  am  considered  rather  a  good  judge  of 
men.     I  am  certain  you  will  do  what  you  say." 

"  I'll  take  the  money.  I  doubt  if  there  is  any- 
one in  London  to-night  who  needs  it  much  worse 
than  I  do." 

Bradley  looked  after  the  disappearing  figure 
of  the  man  who  had  befriended  him. 

"  I  have  seen  that  man  somewhere  before,'" 
he  said  to  himself.  But  in  that  he  was  wrong. 
He  hadn't. 

Wealth  is  most  unevenly  and  most  unfairly 
divided.  All  of  us  admit  that,  but  few  of  us 
agree  about  the  remedy.  Some  of  the  best 
minds  of  the  century  have  wrestled  with  this 
question  in  vain.  "  The  poor  ye  have  always 
with  you  "is  as  true  to-day  as  it  was  1800 
years  ago.  Where  so  many  are  in  doubt,  it  is 
perhaps  a  comfort  to  meet  men  who  have  no- 
uncertainty  as  to  the  cause   and  the   remedy^ 


i  . 


f    , 


-/<• 


'm:^   ' 


,^' 


•\l\ ' 


':.!/ 


ii  ■  'i 


<!  \ 


218 


Zbc  fncc  anD  tbe  A^aslt. 


Such  a  body  of  men  met  in  a  back  room  off 
Soho  Square. 

"  We  are  waiting  for  you,  Bradley,"  said  the 
chairman,  as  the  carpenter  took  his  place  and 
the  doors  were  locked.  He  'ooked  better  than 
he  had  done  a  year  before  on  the  Thames  em- 
bankment. 

"  I  know  I'm  late,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 
They  are  rushing  things  at  the  exhibition 
grounds.  The  time  is  short  now,  and  they 
are  beginning  to  be  anxious  for  fear  every- 
thing will  not  be  ready  in  time." 

"That's  it,"  said  one  of  the  small  group, 
*'  we  are  slaves  and  must  be  late  or  early  as 
our  so-called  masters  choose." 

"  Oh,  there  is  extra  pay,"  said  Bradley  with  a 
smile,  as  he  took  a  seat. 

"  Comrades,"  said  the  chairman,  rapping  on 
the  desk,  "  we  will  now  proceed  to  business. 
The  secret  committee  has  met  and  made  a 
resolution.  After  the  lots  are  drawn  it  will  be 
my  task  to  inform  the  man  chosen  what  the  job 
is.  It  is  desirable  that  as  few  as  possible,  even 
among  ourselves,  should  know  who  the  man  is, 
who  has  drawn  the  marked  paper.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  my  own  good  fortune  to  be  the  chosen 
man.  One  of  the  papers  is  marked  with  a 
cross.  Whoever  draws  that  paper  is  to  com- 
municate with  me  at  my  room  within  two  days. 
He  is  to  come  alone.  It  is  commanded  by  the 
committee  that  no  man  is  to  look  at  his  paper 
until  he  leaves  this  room  and  then  to  examine 
it  in  secret.  He  is  bound  by  his  oath  to  tell  no 
one  at  any  time  whether  or  not  he  is  the  chosen 
man." 

The  papers  were  put  into  a  hat  and  each 
man  in  the  room  drew  one.  The  chairman  put 
his  in  his  pocket,  as  did  the  others.  The  doors 
were  unlocked  and  each  man  went  to  his  home, 
if  he  had  one. 


ft* 

k  room  off 

:y,"  said  the 

s   place  and 

better  than 

Thames  em- 

in't  help  it. 

e    exhibition 

V,   and  they 

fear  every- 

small  group, 
or   early  as 

radley  with  a 

,  rapping  on 
to   business, 
and  made  a 
wn  it  will  be 
what  the  job 
possible,  even 
10  the  man  is, 
)er.     Perhaps 
be  the  chosen 
arked  with  a 
is  to  com- 
hin  two  days, 
anded  by  the 
at  his  paper 
to  examine 
3ath  to  tell  no 
is  the  chosen 

lat   and  each 
chairman  put 
The  doors 
to  his  home, 


Zbc  jfailure  ot  3Qxat>lc^* 


219 


•> 
i 
k 


! 


Next  evening  Bradley  called  at  the  room  of 
the  chairman  and  said  :  "  There  is  the  marked 
paper  I  drew  last  night." 


The  exhibition  building  was  gay  with  bunt- 
ing and  was  sonorous  with  the  sounds  of  a 
band  of  music.  The  machinery  that  would  not 
stop  for  six  months  was  still  motionless,  for  it 
was  to  be  started  in  an  hour's  time  by  His 
Highness.  His  Highness  and  suite  had  not 
yet  arrived  but  the  building  was  crowded  by  a 
well-dressed  throng  of  invited  guests — the  best 
in  the  land  as  far  as  fame,  title  or  money  was 
concerned.  Underneath  the  grand  stand  where 
His  Highness  and  the  distinguished  guests 
were  to  make  speeches  and  where  the  finger  of 
nobility  was  to  press  the  electric  button,  Brad- 
ley walked  anxiously  about,  with  the  same 
haggard  look  on  his  face  that  was  there  the  night 
he  thought  of  slipping  into  the  Thames.  The 
place  underneath  was  a  wilderness  of  beams 
and  braces.  Bradley's  wooden  tool  chest  stood 
on  the  ground  against  one  of  the  timbers. 
The  foremen  came  through  and  struck  a  beam 
or  a  brace  here  and  there. 

"  Everything  is  all  right,"  he  said  to  Bradley. 
'•  There  will  be  no  trouble,  even  if  it  was  put 
up  in  a  hurry,  and  in  spite  of  the  strain  that 
will  be  on  it  to-day." 

Bradley  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  but  he  said 
nothing.  When  the  foreman  left  him  alone,  he 
cautiously  opened  the  lid  of  his  tool  chest  and 
removed  the  carpenter's  apron  which  covered 
something  in  the  bottom.  This  something  was 
a  small  box  with  a  clockwork  arrangement  and 
a  miniature  uplifted  hammer  that  hung  like  the 
sword  of  Damocles  over  a  little  copper  cap. 
He  threw  the  apron  over  it  again,  closed  the 
lid  of  the  chest,  leaned  a<^ainst  one  of  the  tim- 
bers, folded  his  arms  and  waited. 


i' 


220 


^be  jface  and  tbe  Abadh. 


:f 


^  i 


:i% 


I    i 


!    . 


itm 


''.I 


Presently  there  was  a  tremendous  cheer  and 
the  band  struck  up,  "  He  is  coming/'  said 
Bradley  to  himself,  closing  his  lips  tighter. 
"  Carpenter,"  cried  the  policeman  putting  in  his 
head  through  thejlittle  wooden  door  at  the  foot 
of  the  stage,  "  come  here,  quick.  You  can  get 
a  splendid  sight  of  His  Highness  as  he  comes 
up  the  passage."  Bradley  walked  to  the  open- 
ing and  gazed  at  the  distinguished  procession 
coming  toward  him.  Suddenly  he  grasped  the 
arm  of  the  policeman  like  a  vice. 

"  Who  is  that  man  in  the  robes — at  the  head 
of  the  procession  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?    That  is  His  Highness." 

Bradley  gasped  for  breath.  He  recognized 
His  Highness  as  the  man  he  had  met  on  the 
embankment. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  to  the  policeman,  who 
looked  at  him  curiously.  Then  he  went  under 
the  grand  stand  among  the  beams  and  braces 
and  leaned  against  one  of  the  timbers  with 
knitted  brows. 

After  a  few  moments  he  stepped  to  his  chest, 
pulled  off  the  apron  and  carefully  lifted  out 
the  machine.  With  a  quick  jerk  he  wrenched 
off  the  little  hammer  and  flung  it  from  him. 
The  machinery  inside  whirred  for  a  moment 
with  a  soft  purr  like  a  clock  running  down. 
He  opened  the  box  and  shook  out  into  his  apron 
a  substance  like  damp  sawdust.  He  seemed 
puzzled  for  a  moment  what  to  do  with  it. 
Finally  he  took  it  out  and  scattered  it  along 
the  grass-grown  slope  of  a  railway  cutting. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  tool  chest,  took  out  a 
chisel  and  grimly  felt  its  edge  with   his   thumb. 


It  was  admitted  on  all  hands  that  His  High- 
ness never  made  a  better  speech  in  his  life  than 
on  the  occasion  of  the   opening  of  that  exhibi- 


5  cheer  and 
ming,"  said 
lips  tighter, 
futting  in  his 
r  at  the  foot 
lou  can  get 
3  he  comes 
to  the  open- 
i  procession 
grasped  the 

-at  the  head 

s  Highness." 

e   recognized 

met   on  the 

liceman,  who 
2  went  under 
s  and  braces 
timbers    with 


XLbc  ^failure  ot  JBraDleig* 


221 


to  his  chest, 
y  lifted  out 
he  wrenched 
it  from  him. 
r  a  moment 
nning  down, 
nto  his  apron 

He   seemed 

do  with  it. 
:red  it  along 
way  cutting, 
took  out  a 

his   thumb. 


tion.  He  touched  lightly  on  the  country's  un- 
exampled prosperity,  of  which  the  marvelous 
collection  within  those  walls  was  an  indication. 
He  alluded  to  the  general  contentment  that 
reigned  among  the  classes  to  whose  handiwork 
was  due  the  splendid  examples  of  human  skill 
there  exhibited.  His  Highness  was  thankful 
that  peace  and  contentment  reigned  over  the 
happy  land  and  he  hoped  they  would  long  con- 
tinue s  J  to  reign.  Then  there  were  a  good 
many  light  touches  of  humor  in  the  discourse 
— touches  that  are  so  pleasing  when  they  come 
from  people  in  high  places.  In  fact,  the  chair- 
man said  at  the  club  afterwards  (confidentially, 
of  course)  that  the  man  who  wrote  His  High- 
ness's  speeches  had  in  that  case  quite  outdone 
himself. 


The  papers  had  very  full  accounts  of  the  open- 
ing of  the  exhibition  next  morning,  and  perhaps 
because  these  graphic  articles  occupied  so 
much  space,  there  was  so  little  room  for  the 
announcement  about  the  man  who  committed 
suicide.  The  papers  did  not  say  where  the 
body  was  found,  except  that  it  was  near  the 
exhibition  buildings,  and  His  Highness  never 
knew  that  he  made  that  excellent  speech  directly 
over  the  body  of  a  dead  man. 


\t  His  High- 
his  life  than 
that  exhibi- 


h 


I  '.'^ 


■•  .-'     ;■ 


1 '' 


■■■■«■■■ 


■«•   'H 


it     I 


-S  • 


ii 


I  ; 


IV  1 


RINGAMY'S  CONVERT. 

Mr.  Johnson  Ringamy,  the  author,  sat  in 
his  library  gazing  idly  out  of  the  window.  The 
view  was  very  pleasant,  and  the  early  morning 
sun  brought  out  in  strong  relief  the  fresh  green- 
ness of  the  trees  that  now  had  on  their  early 
spring  suits  of  foliage.  Mr.  Ringamy  had  been 
a  busy  man,  but  now,  if  he  cared  to  take  life 
easy,  he  might  do  so,  for  kcw  books  had  had  the 
tremendous  success  of  his  latest  work.  Mr. 
Ringamy  was  thinking  about  this,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  a  tall,  intellectual-looking 
young  man  entered  from  the  study  that  com- 
municated with  the  library.  He  placed  on  the 
table  the  bunch  of  letters  he  had  in  his  hand, 
and,  drawing  up  a  chair,  opened  a  blank  note- 
book that  had,  between  the  leaves,  a  lead  pen- 
cil sharpened  at  both  ends. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Scriver,"  said  the 
author,  also  hitching  up  his  chair  towai  ds  the 
table.  He  sighed  as  he  did  so,  for  the  fair 
spring  prospect  from  the  library  window  was 
much  more  attractive  than  the  task  of  answer- 
ing an  extensive  correspondence. 

"  Is  there  a  large  mail  this  morning,  Scri- 
ver ?  " 

"  A  good-sized  one,  sir,  Many  of  them, 
however,  are  notes  asking  for  your  autograph." 

"  Enclose  stamps,  do  they?  " 

"  Most  of  them,  sir ;  those  that  did  not,  I 
threw  in  the  waste  basket." 

"  Quite  right.     And  as  to  the  autographs  you 


i. ... 


•Rin0ami2'6  Convert. 


223 


ERT. 

LUthor,  sat  in 
indow.  The 
;arly  morning 
;  fresh  green- 
n  their  early 
imy  had  been 
1  to  talce  life 
s  had  had  the 
t  work.  Mr. 
lis,  when  the 
ictual-looking 
idy  that  com- 
^laced  on  the 
in  his  hand, 
blank  note- 
,  a  lead  pen- 

r,'    said  the 

towaids  the 

for  the   fair 

window  was 

of  answer- 

lorning,  Scri- 

ny  of  them, 
autograph." 

it  did  not,  I 

tographs  you 


might  write  them  this  afternoon,  if  you  have 
time." 

"  I  have  already  done  so,  sir.  I  flatter  my- 
self that  even  your  most  intimate  friend  could 
not  tell  my  version  of  your  autograph  from 
your  own." 

As  he  said  this,  the  young  man  shoved  to- 
wards the  author  a  letter  which  he  had  written,, 
and  Mr.  Ringamy  looked  at  it  critically. 

"  Very  good,  Scriver,  very  good  indeed.  In 
fact,  if  I  were  put  in  the  witness-box  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  would  be  able  to  swear  that  this  was 
not  my  signature.  What's  this  you  have  said 
in  the  body  of  the  letter  about  sentiment.'^ 
Not  making  me  write  anything  sentimental,  I 
hope.  Be  careful,  my  boy,  I  don't  want  the 
newspapers  to  get  hold  of  anything  that  they^ 
could  turn  into  ridicule.  They  are  too  apt  to 
do  that  sort  of  thing  if  they  get  half  a  chance. '" 

♦•  Oh,  I  think  you  will  find  that  all  right,"  said 
the  young  man ;  "  still  I  thought  it  best  to  sub- 
mit it  to  you  before  sending  it  off.  You  see 
the  lady  who  writes  has  been  getting  up  a 
'  Ringamy  Club '  in  Kalamazoo,  and  she  asks 
you  to  give  her  an  autographic  sentiment  which 
they  will  cherish  as  the  motto  of  the  club.  So 
I  wrote  the  sentence,  '  All  classes  of  labor 
should  have  equal  compensation.'  If  that  won't 
do,  I,can  easily  change  it.' 

"  Oh,  that  will  do  first  rate — first  rate." 

"  Of  course  it  is  awful  rot,  but  I  thought  it 
would  please  the  feminine  mind." 

"  Awful  what  did  you  say,  Mr.  Scriver  ?  " 

*'  Well,  slush — if  that  expresses  it  better.  Of 
course,  you  don't  believe  any  such  nonsense." 

Mr.  Johnson  Ringamy  frowned  as  he  looked 
at  his  secretary. 

'•  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,"  he  said,  at 
last. 

"  Well,  look  here,    Mr.  Ringamy,   speaking 


l|» 


Sgg 


22 


^be  ^ace  anD  tbe  Aasli. 


", !  -I 


;i.: 


N:. 


now,  not  as  a  paid  servant  to  his  master, 
but " 

"  Now,  Scriver,  I  won't  have  any  talk  like  that. 
There  is  no  master  or  servant  idea  between  us. 
There  oughtn't  to  be  between  anybody.  All 
men  are  free  and  equal." 

"  They  are  in  theory,  and  in  my  eye,  as  I 
might  say  if  I  wanted  to  make  it  more  express- 
ive. 

"  Scriver,  I  cannot  congratulate  you  on  your 
expressive  language,  if  1  may  call  it  so.  But 
we    are   wandering  from  the  argument.     You 

were  going  to  say  that  speaking  as Well,  go 

on. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that,  speaking  as  one  reas- 
onably sensible  man  to  another,  without  any 
gammon  about  it ;  don't  you  think  it  is  rank 
nonsense  to  hold  that  one  class  of  labor  should 
be  as  well  compensated  as  another.  Honestly 
now  }  " 

The  author  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed 
across  the  table  at  his  secretary.  Finally,  he 
said : 

"  My  dear  Scriver,  you  can't  really  mean 
what  you  say.  You  know  that  I  hold  that  all 
classes  of  labor  should  have  exactly  the  same 
compensation.  The  miner,  the  blacksmith,  the 
preacher,  the  postal  clerk,  the  author,  the  pub- 
lisher, the  printer — yes,  the  man  who  sweeps 
out  the  office,  or  who  polishes  boots,  should 
each  share  alike,  if  this  world  were  what  it 
•should  be — yes,  and  what  it  will  be.  Why, 
Scriver,  you  surely  couldn't  have  read  my 
book " 

"  Read  it  ?  why,  hang  it,  I  wrote  it." 

"  You  wrote  it }  The  deuce  you  did  !  I  al- 
ways thought  I  was  the  author  of '' 

"  So  you  are.  But  didn't  I  take  it  all  down 
in  shorthand,  and  didn't  I  whack  it  out  on  the 
type-writer,  and  didn't  I  go  over  the  proof  sheets 


0ll. 

his  master, 

talk  like  that. 

between  us. 

lybody.     All 

ny  eye,  as  I 
lore  express- 

you  on  your 
I  it  so.  But 
ament.  You 
: Well,  go 

g  as  one  reas- 
without  any 
k  it  is  rank 
labor  should 
;r.     Honestly 


ir  and  gazed     f| 
Finally,  he 

really  mean 
hold  that  all 
:tly  the  same 
[acksmith,  the 
or,  the  pub- 
who  sweeps 
loots,  should 
ere  what  it 
be.  Why. 
.ve  read  my 

it." 

did!    lal- 

it  all  down 
It  out  on  the 

proof  sheets 


•Ringami^'a  Convert. 


225 

read 


with  you.    And  yet  you  ask  me  if  I  have 
it!" 

**  Oh,  yes,  quite  right,  I  see  what  you  mean. 
Well,  if  you  paid  as  much  attention  to  the  ar- 
guments as  you  did  to  the  mechanical  produc- 
tion of  the  book,  I  should  think  you  would  not 
ask  if  I  really  meant  what  I  said." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  meant  it  all  right  enough 
— in  a  way — in  theory,  perhaps,  but " 

"  My  dear  sir,  allow  me  to  say  that  a  theory 
which  is  not  practical,  is  simply  no  theory  at 
all.  The  great  success  of  '  Gazing  Upward,' 
has  been  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  an  eminently 
practical  work,  The  nationalization  of  every- 
thing is  not  a  matter  of  theory.  The  ideas  ad- 
vocated in  that  book,  can  be  seen  at  work  at  any 
time.  Look  at  the  Army,  look  at  the  Post 
Office." 

•*  Oh,  that's  all  right,  looking  at  things  in  bulk. 
Let  us  come  down  to  practical  details.  Detail 
is  the  real  test  of  any  scheme.  Take  this  volume, 
'  Gazing  Upward.'  Now,  may  I  ask  how  much 
this  book  has  netted  you  up  to  date  .''  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly.  Somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood  of  ;^2o,ooo." 

"  Very  well  then.  Now  let  us  look  for  a  mo- 
ment at  the  method  by  which  that  book  was 
produced.  You  walked  up  and  down  this  room 
with  your  hands  behind  your  back,  and  dictated 
chapter  after  chapter,  and  I  sat  at  this  table 
taking  it  all  down  in  shorthand.  Then  you 
went  out  and  took  the  air  while  I  industriously 
whacked  it  out  on  the  type-writer." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  '  whacked,' 
Scriver.    That's  twice  you've  used  it." 

"  All  right ; — typographical  error — For 
*  whacked  '  read  '  manipulated.'  Then  you 
looked  over  the  type-written  pages,  and  I  erased 
and  wrote  in  and  finally  got  out  a  perfect  copy. 
Now  I    worked    as   hard — probably   harder — 


I  ' 


!':!•' 


f 


il 


<  pipy    »■ 


't  ■  A 


t 


il'' 


^'    Miff       If 5 


226 


ZTbc  ^ace  and  tbc  Aaaft. 


than  you  did,  yet  the  success  of  that  book  was 
entirely  due  to  you,  and  not  to  me.  Therefore 
it  is  quite  right  that  you  should  get  ;£2o,ooo 
and  that  I  should  get  two  pounds  a  week. 
Come  now,  isn't  it  ?  Speaking  as  a  man  of  com- 
mon sense." 

"  Speaking  exactly  in  that  way  I  say  no  it  is 
not  right.  If  the  world  were  properly  ruled 
the  compensation  of  author  and  secretary  would 
have  been  exactly  the  same." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  go  so  far  as  that,"  replied 
the  Secretary,  "  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

The  author  laughed,  and  the  two  men  bent 
their  energies  to  the  correspondence.  When 
the  task  was  finished,  Scriver  said : 

"  I  would  like  to  get  a  couple  of  days  off,  Mr. 
Ringamy.  I  have  some  private  business  to  at- 
tend to." 

"  When  could  you  get  back  }  " 

"  I'll  report  to  you  on  Thursday  morning." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Not  later  than  Thursday. 
I  think  I'll  take  a  couple  of  days  off  myself." 


Mr  ■' 


ll  I. 


tik    I 


On  Thursday  morning  Mr.  Johnson  Ringamy 
sat  in  his  library  looking  out  of  the  window,  but 
the  day  was  not  as  pleasant  as  when  he  last 
gazed  at  the  hills,  and  the  woods,  and  green 
fields.  A  wild  spring  storm  lashed  the  land- 
scape, and  rattled  the  raindrops  against  the 
pane.  Mr.  Ringamy  waited  for  some  time  and 
then  opened  the  study  door  and  looked  in. 
The  litde  room  was  empty.  He  rang  the  bell, 
and  the  trim  servant-girl  appeared. 

"  Has  Mr.  Scriver  come  in  yet  ?  " 

**  No,  sir,  he  haven't  " 

"  Perhaps  the  rain  has  kept  him." 

"  Mr  Scriver  said  that  when  you  come  back, 
sir.  there  was  a  letter  on  the  table  as  was  for 
you." 


5ft. 

at  book  was 
Therefore 

get  jC2o.oo° 
ids  a  week, 
man  of  com- 

say  no  it  is 
)perly  ruled 
retary  would 

that,"  replied 
)re  to  say." 
»vo  men  bent 
snce.    When 

'days off,  Mr. 
usiness  to  at- 


j  morning, 
lan  Thursday, 
off  myself." 


ison  Ringamy 

window,  but 

/hen  he   last 

Js,  and  green 

[ed  the    land- 

against  the 

[ome  time  and 

id  looked   in. 

rang  the  bell, 


•Rtn0amt>*0  Convert. 


227 


<< 


Ah,  so  there  is.     Thank  you,  that  will  do." 
The  author  opened  the  letter  and  read  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Ringamy, — Your  argu- 
ments the  other  day  fully  convinced  me  that  you 
were  right,  and  I  was  wrong  (*'  Ah !  I  thought 
they  would,"  murmured  the  author).  I  have 
therefore  taken  a  step  toward  putting  your  the- 
ories into  practice.  The  scheme  is  an  old  one 
in  commercial  life,  but  new  in  its  present  appli- 
cation, so  much  so  that  I  fear  it  will  find  no 
defenders  except  yourself,  and  I  trust  that  now 
when  I  am  far  away  ("  Dear  me,  what  does  this 
mean !  "  cried  the  author)  you  will  show  any 
doubters  that  I  acted  on  the  principles  which  will 
govern  the  world  when  the  theories  of  "  Gazing 
Upward  '  are  put  into  practice.  For  fear  that 
all  might  not  agree  with  you  at  present,  I  have 
taken  the  precaution  of  going  to  that  undiscov- 
ered country,  from  whose  bourne  no  extradition 
treaty  forces  the  traveler  to  return — sunny  Spain. 
You  said  you  could  not  tell  my  rendition  of 
your  signature  from  your  own.  Neither  could 
the  bank  cashier.  My  exact  mutation  of  your 
signature  has  enabled  me  to  withdraw  £iofioo 
from  your  bank  account.  Half  the  profits,  you 
know.  You  can  send  future  accumlations,  for 
the  book  will  continue  to  sell,  to  the  address  of 

"Adam  Scriver." 

**  Paste  Restant,  Madrid,  Spain" 

Mr.  Ringamy  at  once  put  the  case  in  the 
hands  of  the  detectives,  where  it  stil!  remains. 


1: 


m 


if^ 


[u  come  back, 
jlc  as  was  for 


\% 


'     'I- 


lli^l 


•    !  ^ 


« 


id'       -i. 


iM'' 


A  SLIPPERY  CUSTOMER. 

When  John  Armstrong  stepped  off  the  train 
at  the  Union  Station,  in  Toronto,  Canada,  and 
walked  outside,  a  small  boy  accosted  him. 

"  Carry  your  valise  up  for  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong. 

"  Carry  it  up  for  ten  cents,  sir  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Take  it  up  for  five  cents,  sir  ?  " 

"Get  out  of  my  way,  will  you  ?  " 

The  boy  got  out  of  the  way,  and  John  Arm- 
strong carried  the  valise  himself. 

There  was  nearly  half  a  million  dollars  in  it, 
so  Mr.  Armstrong  thought  it  best  to  be  his  own 
porter. 


In  the  bay  window  of  one  of  the  handsomest 
residences  in  Rochester,  New  York,  sat  Miss 
Alma  Temple,  waiting  for  her  father  to  come 
home  from  the  bank.  Mr.  Horace  Temple  was 
one  of  the  solid  men  of  Rochester,  and  was  presi- 
dent of  the  Temple  National  Bank.  Although 
still  early  in  December,  the  winter  promised 
to  be  one  of  the  most  severe  for  many  years,  and 
the  snow  lay  crisp  and  hard  on  the  streets,  but 
not  enough  for  sleighing.  It  was  too  cold  for 
snow,  the  weatherwise  said.  Suddenly  Miss 
Alma  drew  back  from  the  window  with  a  quick 
flush  on  her  face  that  certainly  was  not  caused 
by  the  coming  of  her  father.  A  dapper  young 
man  sprang  lightly  up  the  steps,  and  pressed 


/lER. 

ff  the  train 

inada,  and 

him. 
> '» 

rong. 


[ohn  Arm- 

)llars  in  it, 
36  his  own 


andsomest 

sat  Miss 

to  come 

emple  was 

was  presi- 

Altbough 

promised 

years,  and 

itreets,  but 

)o  cold  for 

ienly  Miss 

ith  a  quick 

lot  caused 

)er  young 

pressed 


B  Slippery  Cudtomer. 


229 


the  electric  button  at  the  door.  When  the 
young  man  entered  the  room  a  moment  later 
Miss  Alma  was  sitting  demurely  by  the  open 
fire.  He  advanced  quickly  toward  her,  and 
took  both  her  outstretched  hands  in  his. 
Then,  furtively  looking  around  the  room,  he 
greeted  her  still  more  affectionately,  in  a  manner 
that  the  chronicler  of  these  incidents,  is  not 
bound  to  particularize.  However,  the  fact  may 
be  mentioned  that  whatever  resistance  the 
young  woman  thought  fit  to  offer  was  of  the 
faintest  and  most  futile  kind,  and  so  it  will  be 
understood,  at  the  beginning,  that  these  two 
young  persons  had  a  very  good  understanding 
with  each  other. 

"  You  seem  surprised  to  see  me,"  he  began. 

"  Well,  Walter,  I  understood  that  you  left  last 
time  with  some  energetically  expressed  resolu- 
tions never  to  darken  our  doors  again." 

"  Well,  you  see,  my  dear,  I  am  sometimes  a 
little  hasty ;  and,  in  fact,  the  weather  is  so  dark 
nowadays,  anyhow,  that  a  little  extra  darkness 
does  not  amount  to  much,  and  so  I  thought  I 
would  take  the  risk  of  darkening  them  once 
more." 

"  But  I  also  understood  that  my  father  made 
you  promise,  or  that  you  promised  voluntarily, 
not  to  see  me  again  without  his  permission  ?  " 

"  Not  voluntarily.  Far  from  it.  Under  com- 
pulsion, I  assure  you.  But  I  didn't  come  to  see 
you  at  all.  That's  where  you  are  mistaken. 
The  seeing  you  is  merely  an  accident,  which  I 
have  done  my  best  to  avoid.  Fact !  The  girl 
said,  '  Won't  you  walk  into  the  drawing-room,' 
and  naturally  I  did  so.  Never  expected  to  find 
you  here.  I  thought  I  saw  a  young  lady  at  the 
window  as  I  came  up,  but  I  got  such  a  momen- 
tary glimpse  that  I  might  have  been  mistaken." 

"  Then  I  will  leave  you  and  not  interrupt " 

"  Not  at  all.    Now  I  beg  of  you  not  to  leave 


% 


I 
If' 


it. 


I 


vi 


•^m 


;  ?:.l. 


'  I  im'l  ■'■■    si 


f*    -A 
."it 


« 


ii-r 


230 


^bc  ^acc  anD  tbe  Aaslt. 


on  my  account,  Alma.  You  know  I  would  not 
put  you  to  any  trouble  for  the  world." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Brown." 

"  I  am  indeed,  Miss  Temple.  AH  my  friends 
admit  that.  But  now  that  you  are  here — by 
the  way,  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Temple.  Is  he  at 
home  ?  " 

"  I  am  expecting  him  every  moment." 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  disappointed  ;  but  I  guess  I 
will  bear  up  for  awhile — until  he  comes,  you 
know." 

"  I  thought  your  last  interview  with  him  was 
not  so  pleasant  that  you  would  so  soon  seek  an- 
other." 

"  The  fact  is.  Alma,  we  both  lost  our  tempers 
a  bit,  and  no  good  ever  comes  of  that.  You 
can*t  conduct  business  in  a  heat,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  then  the  asking  of  his  daughter's  hand 
was  bus' less — a  mere  business  proposition, 
was  it.?" 

"  Well,  I  confess  he  put  it  that  way — very 
strongly,  too.  Of  course,  with  me  there  would 
have  been  pleasure  mixed  with  it  if  he  had — 
but  he  didn't.  See  here.  Alma — tell  me  frankly 
(of  course  he  talked  with  you  about  it)  what 
objection  he  has  to  me  anyhow." 

"  I  suppose  you  consider  yourself  such  a 
desirable  young  man  that  it  astonishes  you 
greatly  that  any  person  should  have  any  possi- 
ble objection  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  come  now.  Alma  ;  don't  hit  a  fellow 
when  he's  down,  you  know.  I  don't  suppose  I 
have  more  conceit  than  the  average  young 
man ;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  not 
such  a  fool,  despite  appearances,  as  not  to  know 
that  I  am  considered  by  some  people  as  quite 
an  eligible  individual.  I  am  not  a  pauper  ex- 
actly, and  your  father  knows  that.  I  don't  think 
I  have   many  very  bad   qualities.     I   don't  get 


B  SUppens  Customer* 


231 


drunk  ;  I  don't — oh,  I  could  give  quite  a  list  of 
the  things  I  don't  do." 

"  You  are  certainly  frank  enough,  my  eligible 
young  man.  Still  you  must  not  forget  that  my 
papa  is  considered  quite  an  eligible  father-in-law, 
if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  admit  it.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise  when  he  has  such  a  charming 
daughter  ?  " 

"You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  Walter. 
You  were  speaking  of  wealth  and  so  was  I. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  change  the  subject." 

"  By  the  way,  that  reminds  me  of  what  I 
came  to  see  you  about.      What  do " 

"  To  see  me  ?  I  thought  you  came  to  see 
my  father." 

"  Oh,  yes — certainly — I  did  come  to  see  him, 
of  course,  but  in  case  I  saw  you,  I  thought  I 
would  ask  you  for  further  particulars  in  the  case. 
I  have  askf'  you  the  question  but  you  have 
evaded  the  answer.  You  did  not  tell  me  why 
he  is  so  prejudiced  against  me.  Why  did  he 
receive  me  in  such  a  gruff  manner  when  I 
spoke  to  him  about  it  .'*  It  is  not  a  criminal 
act  to  ask  a  man  for  his  daughter.  It  is  not,  I 
assure  you.  I  looked  up  the  law  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  a  young  friend  of  mine,  who  is  a  bar- 
rister, says  there  is  no  statute  in  the  case  made 
and  provided.  The  law  of  the  State  of  New 
York  does  not  recognize  my  action  as  against 
the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  commonwealth. 
Well,  he  received  me  as  if  I  had  been  caught 
robbing  the  bank.  Now  I  propose  to  know 
what  the  objection  is.  I  am  going  to 
hear " 

"  Hush  !     Here  is  papa  now." 

Miss  Alma  quickly  left  the  room,  and  met 
her  father  in  the  hall.  Mr.  Brown  stood  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  back  to  the 
fire.     He  heard  the  gruff  voice  of  Mr.  Temple 


ii 


I 


imf^ 


232 


^be  jfacc  anD  tbc  Aa^fi. 


:i.  Mi 


I': 


M^ii 


■>.\ 


•*,' 


1  .  ^mt  ,>i 


ii 


say,  apparently  in  answer  to  some  information 
given  him  by  his  daughter :  "  Is  he  ?  What 
does  he  want  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  the 
same  voice  said  : 

"  Very  well,  I  will  see  him  in  the  library  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Somehow  the  courage  of  young  Mr.  Brown 
sank  as  he  heard  the  banker's  voice,  and  the 
information  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  de- 
mand with  some  hauteur,  he  thought  he  would 
ask,  perhaps,  in  a  milder  manner. 

Mr.  Brown  brightened  up  as  the  door  opened, 
but  it  was  not  Miss  Alma  who  came  in.  The 
servant  said  to  him  : 

"  Mr.  Temple  is  in  the  library,  sir.  Will  you 
come  this  way  !  " 

He  followed  and  found  the  banker  seated  at 
his  library  table,  on  which  he  had  just  placed 
some  legal-looking  papers,  bound  together  with 
a  thick  rubber  band.  It  was  evident  that  his 
work  did  not  stop  when  he  left  the  bank. 
Young  Brown  noticed  that  Mr.  Temple  looked 
careworn  and  haggard,  and  that  his  manner  was 
very  different  from  what  it  had  been  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  last  interview. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Brown.  I  am  glad  you 
called.  1  was  on  the  point  of  writing  to  you, 
but  the  subject  of  our  talk  the  other  night  was 
crowded  from  my  mind  by  more  important 
matters." 

Young  Mr.  Brown  thought  bitterly  that  there 
ought  not  to  be  matters  more  important  to  a 
father  than  his  daughter's  happiness,  but  he  had 
the  good  sense  not  to  say  so. 

"  I  spoke  to  you  on  that  occasion  with  a — 
in  a  manner  that  was — well,  hardly  excusable, 
and  I  wish  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  I  did  so. 
What  I  had  to  sta^e  might  have  been  stated 
with  more  regard  for  your  feelings." 


I 


i^i 


a  SUpperis  Cu0tomer. 


235 


iformation 
e  ?     What 

J  then  the 

ibrary  in  a 

Ir.  Brown 
I,  and  the 
nd  to  de- 
he  would 

or  opened, 
i  in.    The 

Will  you 

•  seated  at 
ust  placed 
:ether  with 
It  that  his 
the  bank, 
ble  looked 
anner  was 
on  the  oc- 

glad  you 
to  you, 
night  was 
important 

hat  there 
rtant  to  a 
ut  he  had 

with  a — 

xcusable, 

did  so. 

n  stated 


I 


"  Then  may  I  hope,  Mr.  Temple,  that  you 
have  changed  your  mind  with " 

"  No,  sir.  What  I  said  then — that  is,  the 
substance  of  what  I  said,  not  the  manner  of 
saying  it — I  still  adhere  to." 

"May  I  ask  what  objection  you  have  to 
me?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  have  the  same  objection  that  I 
have  to  the  majority  of  the  society  young  men 
of  the  present  day.  If  I  make  inquiries  about 
you,  what  do  I  find  ?  That  you  are  a  noted 
oarsman — that  you  have  no  profession — that 
your  honors  at  college  consisted  in  being  cap- 
tain of  the  football  team,  and " 

"  No,  no,  the  baseball  club." 

"  Same  thing,  I  suppose." 

"  Quite  different,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Temple."^ 

"  Well,  it  is  the  same  to  me  at  any  rate. 
Now,  in  my  time  youn^  men  had  a  harder  row- 
to  hoe,  and  they  hoed  it.  I  am  what  they  call 
a  self-made  man  .  '^  i  probably  I  have  a  harsher 
opinion  of  the  young  men  of  the  present  day 
than  I  should  have.  But  if  I  had  a  son  I  would 
endeavor  to  have  him  know  how  to  do  some- 
thing, and  then  I  would  see  that  he  did  it." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  stating  your  objec- 
tion, Mr.  Temple.  I  have  taken  my  degree  in 
Harvard  law  school,  but  I  have  never  prac- 
ticed, because,  as  the  little  boy  said,  I  didn't 
have  to.  Perhaps  if  some  one  had  spoken  to 
me  as  you  have  done  I  would  have  pitched  in 
and  gone  to  work.  It  is  not  too  late  yet.  Will 
you  give  me  a  chance  ?  The  position  of  cash- 
ier in  your  bank,  for  instance  ?  " 

The  effect  of  these  apparently  innocent 
words  on  Mr.  Temple  was  startling.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  brought  down  his 
clenched  fist  on  the  table  with  a  vehemence 
that  made  young  Mr.  Brown  jump.     "  What 


II 


! 


W^wr^Tr 


*  I 


i  -'I 


.'fi 


'   M 


234 


^be  iface  anD  tbc  Abaaft. 


? 


do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  he  cried,  sternly.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  saying  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Why,    I — I — I — mean "       stammered 

Brown,  but  he  could  get  no  further.  He 
thought  the  old  man  had  suddenly  gone  crazy. 
He  glared  across  the  library  table  t  Brown 
as  if  the  next  instant  he  would  s;^!  ig  at  his 
throat.  Then  the  haggard  look  <  ar  e  into  his 
face  again,  he  passed  his  hand  aero;- ^  his  brow, 
and  sank  into  his  chair  with  a  groan. 

**  My  dear  sir,"  said  Brown,  approaching  him, 
*'  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is  there  anything  I 
can " 

"  Sit  down,  please,"  answered  the  banker, 
melancholy.  "  You  will  excuse  me  I  hope,  I 
am  very  much  troubled.  I  did  not  intend  to 
speak  of  it,  but  some  explanation  is  due  to  you. 
A  month  from  now,  if  you  are  the  kind  of 
man  that  most  of  your  fellows  are,  you  will  not 
wish  to  marry  my  daughter.  There  is  every 
chance  that  at  that  time  the  doors  of  my  bank 
will  be  closed." 

"  You  astonish  me,  sir.    I  thought " 

'*  Yes,  and  so  every  one  thinks.  I  have  sel- 
dom in  my  life  trusted  the  wrong  man,  but  this 
time  I  have  done  so,  and  the  one  mistake  seems 
likely  to  obliterate  all  that  I  have  succeeded  in 
doing  in  a  life  of  hard  work." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  financial  assistance  I  will 
be  glad  to  help  you." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

'*  Well,  I  don't  know — 50,000  dollars  perhaps 
or " 

"  I  must  have  250,000  dollars  before  the  end 
of  this  month." 

•'  Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  William  L.  Staples,  the  cashier  of 
our  bank,  is  now  in  Canada  with  half  a  million 
of  the  bank  funds.  No  one  knows  it  but 
mvself  and  one  or  two  of  the  directors.     It  is 


••  What 


?  " 


stammered 
:her.  He 
gone  crazy. 
t  Brown 
ri  ig  at  his 
r  e  into  his 
J  his  brow, 

aching  him, 
anything  I 

tie  banker, 
I  hope,  I 
t  intend  to 
due  to  you. 
tie  kind  of 
rou  will  not 
e  is  every 
)f  my  bank 


I  have  sel- 
m,  but  this 
take  seems 
cceeded  in 

ance  I  will 


rs  perhaps 
re  the  end 


cashier  of 
a  million 
vs  it  but 
ors.     It  is 


B  Slipperis  Cudtomer* 


23S 


generally  supposed  that  he  has  gone  to  \v  ash- 
ington  on  a  vacation." 

"  But  can't  you  put  detectives  on  his  track  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Then  the  theft  would  be  made 
public  at  once.  The  papers  would  be  full  of  it. 
There  might  be  a  run  on  the  bank,  and  we 
would  have  to  close  the  doors  the  next  day. 
To  put  the  detectives  on  his  track  would 
merely  mean  bringing  disaster  on  our  own 
heads.  Staples  is  quite  safe,  and  he  knows  it. 
Thanks  to  an  idiotic  international  arrangt  ent 
he  is  as  free  from  danger  of  arrest  in  Canada 
as  you  are  here.  It  is  impossible  to  extradite 
him  for  stealing." 

**  But  I  think  there  is  a  law  against  bringing 
stolen  money  into  Canada." 

"  Perhaps  there  is.  It  would  not  help  us  at 
the  present  moment.  We  must  compromise 
with  him,  if  we  can  find  him  in  time.  Of 
course,  even  if  the  bank  closed,  we  would  pay 
everything  when  there  was  time  to  realize. 
But  that  is  not  the  point.  It  would  mean 
trouble  and  disaster,  and  would  probably  result 
in  other  failures  all  through  one  man's  rascal- 
ity." 

"  Then  it  all  resolves  itself  to  this.  Staples 
must  be  found  quietly  and  negotiated  with. 
Mr.  Temple,  let  me  undertake  the  finding  of 
him,  and  the  negotiating,  also,  if  you  will  trust 
me. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Never  saw  him  in  my  life." 

"  Here  is  his  portrait.  He  is  easily  recog- 
nized from  that.  You  couldn't  mistake  him. 
He  is  probably  living  at  Montreal  under  an  as- 
sumed name.  He  may  have  sailed  for  Europe. 
You  will  say  nothing  of  this  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Certainy  not.  I  will  leave  on  to-night's 
train  for  Montreal,  or  on  the  first  train  that 
goes." 


I 


^ 


: 


I.  1 1 


.a 


236 


ZTbc  #ace  anD  tbe  Aasli, 


Young  Mr.  Brown  slipped  the  photograph 
into  his  pocket  and  shook  hands  with  the  ban- 
ker. Somehow  his  confident,  alert  bearing  in- 
spired the  old  man  with  more  hope  than  he 
would  have  cared  to  admit,  for,  as  a  general 
thing,  he  despised  the  average  young  man. 

"  How  lon^  can  you  hold  out  if  this  does  not 
become  public?  " 

"  For  a  month  at  least ;  probably  for  two  or 
three." 

'*  Well,  don't  expect  to  hear  from  me  too 
soon.  I  shall  not  risk  writing.  If  there  is  any- 
thing to  communicate,  I  will  come  myself." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  take  my  trouble 
on  your  shoulders  like  this.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"I  am  not  a  philanthropist,  Mr,  Temple," 
replied  young  Brown. 


When  young  Mr.  Brown  stepped  off  the 
train  at  the  Central  Station  in  Toronto,  a 
small  boy  accosted  him. 

**  Carry  your  valise  up  for  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Brown,  handing  it  to  him. 

"  How  much  do  I  owe  you  ?  "  he  asked  at 
the  lobby  of  the  hotel. 

"  Twenty-five  cents,"  said  the  boy  promptly, 
and  he  got  it. 

Brown  registered  on  the  books  of  the  hotel 
as  John  A.  Walker,  of  Montreal. 


Mr.  Walter  Brown,  of  Rochester,  was  never 
more  discouraged  in  his  life  than  at  the  moment 
he  wrote  on  the  register  the  words,  "  John  A. 
Walker,  Montreal."  He  had  searched  Montreal 
from  one  end  to  the  other,  but  had  found  no 
trace  of  the  man  for  whom  he  was  looking. 
Yet,  strange  to  say,  when  he  raised  his  eyes 


'i\ 


B  SUppetis  Customer* 


237 


from  the  register  they  met  the  face  of  William 
L.  Staples,  ex-cashier.  It  was  lucky  for  Brown 
that  Staples  was  looking  at  the  words  he  had 
written,  and  not  at  himself,  or  he  would  have 
noticed  Brown's  involuntary  start  of  surprise, 
and  flush  of  pleasure.  It  was  also  rather  curi- 
ous that  Mr.  Brown  had  a  dozen  schemes  in 
his  mind  for  getting  acquainted  with  Staples 
when  he  met  him,  and  yet  that  the  first  advance 
should  be  made  by  Staples  himself. 

"You  are  from  Montreal,"  said  Mr.  Staples, 
alias  John  Armstrong, 

"  That's  my  town,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it  in  winter  ? 
Pretty  lively  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Good  deal  of  a  winter  city,  Mon- 
treal is.    How  do  you  mean,  business  or  sport  ?  " 

'*  Well,  both.  Generally  where  there's  lots 
of  business  there's  lots  of  fun." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  assented  Brown.  He  did 
not  wish  to  prolong  the  conversation.  He  had 
some  plans  to  make,  so  he  followed  his  luggage 
up  to  his  room.  It  was  evident  that  he  would 
have  to  act  quickly.  Staples  was  getting  tired 
of  Toronto. 

Two  days  after  Brown  had  his  plans  com- 
pleted. He  met  Staples  one  evening  in  the 
smoking-room  of  the  hotel. 

"  Think  of  going  to  Montreal  ?  "  asked  Brown. 

"  I  did  think  of  it.  I  don't  know,  though. 
Are  you  in  business  there  ?  " 

"  Yes.  If  you  go,  I  could  give  you  some  let- 
ters of  introduction  to  a  lot  of  fellows  who 
would  show  you  some  sport,  that  is,  if  you  care 
for  snow-shoeing,  toboganning,  and  the  like  of 
that." 

"  I  never  went  in  much  for  athletics,"  said 
Staples. 

"  I  don't  care  much  for  exertion  myself,"  an- 
swered Brown.    "  I  come  up  here  every  winter 


I'  I 


238 


XTbe  face  and  tbe  AadTi* 


«: 


t' 


for  some  ice-yachting.  That's  my  idea  of 
sport.  I  own  one  of  the  fastest  ice-boats  on 
the  bay.     Ever  been  out.^  " 

*'  No,  I  haven't.  I've  seen  them  at  it  a  good 
deal.  Pretty  cold  work  such  weather  as  we've 
been  having,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Better  come  out  with  me 
to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do." 

The  next  day  and  the  next  they  spun  around 
the  bay  on  the  ice-boat.  Even  Staples,  who 
seemed  to  be  tired  of  almost  everything,  liked 
the  swiftness  and  exhilaration  of  the  iceboat. 

One  afternoon,  Brown  walked  into  the  bar  of 
the  hotel,  where  he  found  Staples  standing. 

"  See  here,  Armstrong,"  he  cried,  slapping 
that  gentleman  on  the  shoulder.  "  Are  you  in 
for  a  bit  of  sport  ?  It's  a  nice  moonlight  night, 
and  I'm  going  to  take  a  spin  down  to  Hamilton 
to  meet  some  chaps,  and  we  can  come  back  on 
the  iceboat,  or  if  you  think  it  too  late,  you  can 
stay  over,  and  come  back  on  the  train." 

"  Hamilton  ?     That's  up  the  lake,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  a  nice  run  from  here.  Come  along. 
J  counted  on  you." 

An  hour  later  they  were  skimming  along  the 
frozen  surface  of  the  lake. 

"  Make  yourself  warm  and  snug,"  said 
Brown.  "  That's  what  the  buffalo  robes  are 
for.  I  must  steer,  so  I  have  to  keep  in  the 
open.  If  I  were  you  I'd  wrap  up  in  those  robes 
and  go  to  sleep.  I'll  wake  you  when  we're 
there. ' 

"All  right,"  answered  Staples.  "That's 
not  a  bad  idea. " 

"  General  George  Washington  ! "  said  young- 
Brown  to  himself.  "  This  is  too  soft  a  snap  al- 
together. I'm  going  to  run  him  across  the  lake 
like  a  lamb.  Before  he  opens  his  eyes  we'll 
have  skimmed  across  the  frozen   lake,  and  he'll 


£i  SUpper)2  Cu0tomer* 


239 


)ut  with  me 


the  tongue  almost 
life.  He  had  been 
his  own  name,  and 
unconsciously.     He 


find  himself  in  the  States  again  when  he  wakes 
up.  The  only  thing  now  to  avoid  are  the  air- 
holes and  ice-hills,  and  I'm  all  right." 

He  had  been  over  the  course  before  and 
knew  pretty  well  what  was  ahead  of  him.  The 
wind  was  blowing  stiffly  straight  up  the  lake 
and  the  boat  silently,  and  swifter  than  the 
fastest  express,  was  flying  from  Canada  and 
lessening  the  distance  to  the  American  shore. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along,  Walker,"  cried 
Staples,  rousing  himself  up.  **  First  rate," 
answered  Brown.  "  We'll  soon  be  there. 
Staples." 

That  unfortunate  slip  of 
cost  young  Mr.  Brown  his 
thinking  of  the  man  under 
the  name  had  come  out 
did  not  even  notice  it  himself  in  time  to  prepare, 
and  the  next  instant  the  thief  flung  himself 
upon  him  and  jammed  his  head  against  the 
iron  rod  that  guided  the  rudder,  with  such  a 
force  that  the  rudder  stayed  in  its  place  and 
the  boat  flew  along  the  ice  without  a  swerve. 

"  You  scoundrel !  "  roared  the  bank-robber. 
"  That's  your  game,  is  it  ?  By  the  gods,  I'll 
teach  you  a  lesson  in  the  detective  business  ! " 

Athlete  as  young  Brown  was,  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  attack,  and  the  fact  that  Staples 
clutched  both  hands  round  his  neck  and  had 
his  knee  on  his  breast,  left  him  as  powerless  as 
an  infant.  Even  then  he  did  not  realize  what 
had  caused  the  robber  to  guess  his  position. 

"  For  God's  sake,  let  me  up  !  "  gasped  Brown. 
"  We'll  be  into  an  air-hole  and  drowned  in  a 
moment." 

"  I'll  risk  it,  you  dog!  till  I've  choked  the 
breath  out  of  your  body."  Brown  wriggled  his 
head  away  from  the  rudder  iron,  hoping  that 
the  boat  would  slew  around,  but  it  kept  its 
course.     He  realized  that  if  he  was  to   save  his 


il 


}^  '\ 


Iflii: 


I      <i 


240 


^be  jfacc  anD  tbc  Aaeft. 


life  he  would  have  to  act  promptly.  He  seemed 
to  feel  his  tongue  swell  in  his  par  jhed  mouth. 
His  strength  was  gone  and  his  throat  was  in 
an  iron  vice.  He  struck  out  wildly  with  his  feet 
and  one  fortunate  kick  sent  the  rudder  almost 
at  right  angles. 

Instantly  the  boat  flashed  around  into  the 
wind.  Even  if  a  man  is  prepared  for  such  a 
thing,  it  takes  all  his  nerve  and  strength  to 
keep  him  on  an  iceboat.  Staples  was  not  pre- 
pared. He  launched  head  first  into  space  and 
slid  for  a  long  distance  on  the  rough  ice. 
Brown  was  also  flung  on  the  ice  and  lay  for  a 
moment  gasping  for  breath.  Then  he  gathered 
himself  together,  and  slipping  his  hand  under 
his  coat,  pulled  out  his  revolver.  He  thought 
at  first  that  Staples  was  shamming,  but  a  closer 
examination  of  him  showed  that  the  fall  on  the 
ice  had  knocked  him  senseless. 

There  was  only  one  thing  that  young  Mr. 
Brown  was  very  anxious  to  know.  He  wanted 
to  know  where  the  money  was.  He  had 
played  the  part  of  private  detective  well  in  To- 
ronto, after  the  very  best  French  style,  and  had 
searched  the  room  of  Staples  in  his  absence, 
but  he  knew  the  money  was  not  there  nor  in 
his  valise.  He  knew  equally  well  that  the  funds 
were  in  some  safe  deposit  establishment  in  the 
•city,  but  where  he  could  not  find  out.  He  had 
intended  to  work  on  Staples'  fears  of  imprison- 
ment when  once  he  had  him  safe  on  the  other 
side  of  the  line.  But  now  that  the  man  was 
insensible,  he  argued  that  it  was  a  good  time  to 
find  whether  or  not  he  had  a  record  of  the 
place  of  deposit  in  his  pocket-book.  He  fouud 
no  such  book  in  his  pockets.  In  searching, 
however,  he  heard  the  rustling  of  paper  appar- 
-ently  in  the  lining  of  his  coat.  Then  he  noticed 
how  thickly  it  was  padded.  The  next  moment 
he  had  it  ripped  open,  and  a  glance  showed  him 


e  seemed 
d  mouth, 
t  was  in 
h  his  feet 
;r  almost 

into   the 
for  such  a 
ength    to 
i  not  pre- 
pace  and 
ough   ice. 
I  lay  for  a 
;  gathered 
ind  under 
e   thought 
ut  a  closer 
all  on  the 

oung   Mr. 
He  wanted 
,    He    had 
ell   in  To- 
,  and  had 
absence, 
re   nor   in 
the  funds 
2nt  in   the 
He  had 
imprison- 
the  other 
man  was 
Dd  time  to 
rd  of  the 
I  He  fouud 
searching, 
jr  appar- 
le  noticed 
moment 
)wed  him 


b  '  nU 

rii 

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^^^^^^^^H              -     ■»-,'.   p»*m  ^^1 

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■  -•^^s^ 

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1 

i  f 


"HE  SAW   brown's  REVOLVER   'COVERING'   HIM."— /'a^tf  241. 


i 


I.  ,',1* 


« 


'U  ,.i 


n-im 


i^f-v 


B  Slippery  Customer* 


241 


that  it  was  lined  with  bonds.  Both  coat  and 
vest  were  padded  in  this  way — the  vest  being 
filled  with  Bank  of  England  notes,  so  the 
chances  were  that  Staples  had  meditated  a  tour 
in  Europe.  The  robber  evidently  put  no  trust 
in  Safe  Deposits  nor  banks.  Brown  flung  the 
thief  over  on  his  face,  after  having  unbuttoned 
coat  and  vest,  doubled  back  his  arms  and 
pulled  off  these  garments.  His  own.  Brown 
next  discarded,  and  with  some  difficulty  got 
them  on  the  fallen  man  and  then  put  on  the 
clothes  of  mammon. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  rolling  in  wealth,"  said 
Brown  to  himself.  He  admitted  that  he  felt 
decidedly  better  after  the  change  of  clothing, 
cold  as  it  was. 

Buttoning  his  own  garments  on  the  prostrate 
man.  Brown  put  a  flask  of  liquor  to  his  lips  and 
speedily  revived  him.  Staples  sat  on  the  ice  in  a 
dazed  manner,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his 
brow.  In  the  cold  gleam  of  the  moonlight  he 
saw  the  shining  barrel  of  Brown's  revolver 
"  covering  "  him. 

"  It's  all  up,  Mr.  Staples.  Get  on  board  the 
iceboat. " 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  take  me  to  ?  " 

*'  I'll  let  you  go  when  we  c^ine  to  the  coast 
if  you  tell  me  where  the  money  is." 

"  You  know  you  are  guilty  of  the  crime  of 
kidnapping,"  said  Mr.  Staples,  apparently  with 
the  object  of  gaining  time.  "  So  you  are  in 
some  danger  of  the  law  yourself." 

"  That  is  a  question  that  can  be  discussed 
later  on.  You  came  voluntarily,  don't  forget 
that  fact.     Where's  the  money  ?  ' 

"  It  is  on  deposit  in  the  Bank  of  Commerce." 

"  Well,  here's  paper  and  a  stylographic  pen, 
if  the  ink  isn't  frozen — no,  it's  all  right — write 
a  cheque  quickly  for  the  amount  payable  to 
bearer.     Hurry  up,  or  the  ink  will  freeze." 


242 


^be  jface  an^  tbe  /Hbaeft* 


There  was  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  the  face 
of  Staples  as  he  wrote  the  check. 

"  There,"  he  said,  with  a  counterfeited  sigh. 
"  That  is  the  amount." 

The  check  was  for  480,000  dollars. 

When  they  came  under  the  shadow  of  the 
American  coast,  Brown  ordered  his  passenger 
off. 

"  You  can  easily  reach  land  from  here,  and 
the  walk  will  do  you  good.  I'm  going  further 
up  the  lake." 

When  Staples  was  almost  at  the  land  he 
shouted  through  the  clear  night  air:  "Don't 
spend  the  money  recklessly  when  you  get  it, 
Walker." 

*'  I'll  take  care  of  it.  Staples,"  shouted  back 
young  Brown. 

♦        ♦        «        ♦        ♦ 

Young  Mr.  Brown  sprang  lightly  up  the  steps 
of  the  Temple  mansion,  Rochester,  and  pressed 
the  electric  button. 

"  Has  Mr.  Temple  gone  to  the  bank  yet  ?  " 
he  asked  the  servant. 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  is  in  the  library." 

"  Thank  you.  Don't  trouble.  I  know  the 
way. 

Mr.  Temple  looked  around  as  the  young  man 
entered,  and,  seeing  who  it  was.  sprang  to  his 
feet  with  a  look  of  painful  e.xpectancy  on  his 
face.  "There's  a  little  present  for  you,"  said 
Mr.  Brown,  placing  a  package  on  the  table. 
"  Four  hundred  and  seventy-eight  thousand : 
Bank  of  England  notes  and  United  States 
bonds."  The  old  man  grasped  his  hand,  strove 
to  speak,  but  said  nothing. 

I*  ♦  ♦  «  4t  ♦  ♦ 

People  wondered  why  young  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brown  went  to  Toronto  on  their  wedding  tour 
in  the  depth  of  winter.  It  was  so  very  unusual, 
don't  you  know. 


THE  SIXTH  BENCH. 


I  know  the 


She  was  in  earnest ;  he  was  not.  When  that 
state  of  things  exists  anything  may  happen. 
The  occurrence  may  be  commonplace,  comic, 
or  tragic,  depending  on  the  temperament  and 
experience  of  the  woman.  In  this  instance  the 
result  was  merely  an  appointment — which  both 
of  them  kept. 

Hector  McLane  came  to  Paris  with  noble  res- 
olutions, a  theory  of  color,  and  a  small  allow- 
ance. Paris  played  havoc  with  all  of  these. 
He  was  engaged  to  a  nice  girl  at  home,  who  re- 
lieved him  destined  to  become  a  great  painter ; 
a  delusion  which  McLane  shared. 

He  entered  with  great  zest  into  the  life  of  a 
Parisian  art  student,  but  somehow  the  expe- 
rience did  not  equal  his  anticipations.  What  he 
had  read  in  books — poetry  and  prose — had 
thrown  a  halo  around  the  Latin  Quarter,  and 
he  was  therefore  disappointed  in  finding  the 
halo  missing.  The  romance  was  sordid  and 
mercenary,  and  after  a  few  months  of  it  he 
yearned  for  something  better. 

In  Paris  you  may  have  nearly  everything — 
except  the  something  better.  It  exists,  of  course, 
but  it  rarely  falls  in  the  way  of  the  usually  im- 
pecunious art  student.  Yet  it  happened  that, 
as  luck  was  not  against  the  young  man,  he  found 
it  when  he  had  abandoned  the  search  for  it. 

Mc Lane's  theory  was  that  art  had  become 
too  sombre.  The  world  was  running  over- 
much after  the  subdued  in  color.     He  wanted 


n 


S! 


)  'sm 


I 


.?      <f, 


r, 


N  ■   'j 


'  .     -I 


«, 


r 


.»!  1 


Mi.M 


ti  '. 


iif'T"' 


244 


^bc  face  and  tbc  Aasfi. 


1 


to  be  able  to  paint  things  as  they  are,  and  was 
not  to  be  deterred  if  his  pictures  were  called 
gaudy.  He  obtained  permission  to  set  up  his 
easel  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame,  and  in  the 
dim  light  there,  he  endeavored  to  place  on  canvas 
some  semblance  of  the  splendor  of  color  that 
came  through  the  huge  rose  window  high  above 
him.  He  was  discouraged  to  see  how  opaque 
the  colors  in  the  canvas  were  as  compared  with 
the  translucent  hues  of  the  great  window.  As 
he  leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of  defeat,  his  wan- 
dering eyes  met,  for  one  brief  instant,  some- 
thing more  beautiful  than  the  stained  glass,  as 
the  handiwork  of  God  must  always  be  more 
beautiful  than  the  handiwork  of  man.  The 
fleeting  glimpse  was  of  a  melting  pair  of  dark 
limpid  eyes,  which,  meeting  his,  were  instantly 
veiled,  and  then  he  had  a  longer  view  of  the 
sweet  face  they  belonged  to.  It  was  evident 
that  the  young  girl  had  been  admiring  his  work, 
which  was  more  than  he  could  hope  to  have  the 
professer  at  Julien's  do. 

Lack  of  assurance  was  never  considered,  even 
by  his  dearest  friend,  to  be  among  McLane's 
failings.  He  rose  from  his  painting  stool,  bowed 
and  asked  her  if  she  would  not  sit  down  for  a 
moment;  she  could  see  the— the — painting  so 
much  better.  The  girl  did  not  answer,  but 
turned  a  frightened  look  upon  him,  and  fled 
under  the  wing  of  her  kneeling  duenna,  who  had 
not  yet  finished  her  devotions.  It  was  evident 
that  the  prayers  of  the  girl  had  been  briefer 
than  those  of  the  old  woman  in  whose  charge 
she  was.  Where  the  need  is  greatest  the  prayer 
is  often  the  shortest.  McLane  had  one  more 
transitory  glimpse  of  those  dark  eyes  as  he  held 
open  the  swinging  door.  The  unconscious 
woman  and  the  conscious  girl  passed  out  of 
the  church. 

This  was  how  it  began. 


^bc  Siitb  Bencb. 


245 


The  painting  of  the  colored  window  of  Notre 
Dame  now  occupied  almost  all  the  time  at  the 
disposal  of  Hector  McLane.  No  great  work  is 
ever  accomplished  without  unwearied  persever- 
ance. It  was  remarkable  that  the  realization  of 
this  truth  came  upon  him  just  after  he  had  defi- 
nitely made  up  his  mind  to  abandon  the  task. 
Before  he  allowed  the  swinging  door  to  close  he 
had  resolved  to  pursue  his  study  in  color.  It  thus 
happened,  incidentally,  that  he  saw  the  young 
girl  again,  always  at  the  same  hour,  and  always 
with  the  same  companion.  Once  he  succeeded, 
unnoticed  by  the  elder,  in  slipping  a  note  into 
her  hand,  which  he  was  pleased  and  flattered 
to  see  she  retained  and  concealed.  Another 
day  he  had  the  joy  of  having  a  few  whispered 
words  with  her  in  the  dim  shadow  of  one  of  the 
gigantic  pillars.  After  that,  progress  was  com- 
paratively easy. 

Her  name  was  Yvette,  he  learned,  and  he 
was  amused  to  find  with  what  expert  dexterity  a 
perfectly  guileless  and  innocent  little  creature 
such  as  she  was,  managed  to  elude  the  vigilance 
of  the  aged  and  experienced  woman  who  had  her 
in  charge.  The  stolen  interviews  usually  took 
place  in  the  little  park  behind  Notre  Dame. 
There  they  sat  on  the  bench  facing  the  fountain, 
or  walked  up  and  down  on  the  crunching  gravel 
under  the  trees.  In  the  afternoons  they  walked 
in  the  secluded  part  of  the  park,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  church.  It  was  her  custom  to 
send  him  dainty  little  no*^^es  telling  him  when 
she  expected  to  be  in  the  park,  giving  the  num- 
ber of  the  bench,  for  sometimes  the  duenna 
could  not  be  eluded,  and  was  seated  there  with 
Yvette.  On  these  occasions  McLane  had  to 
content  himself  with  gazing  from  afar. 

She  was  so  much  in  earnest  that  the  particu- 
lar emotion  which  occupied  the  place  of  con- 
science in  McLane's  being,  was  troubled.     He 


(        SI 


!*  ' 


m 


!.M 


' ;  M 


246 


^be  jface  anD  tbe  /Ibaeft. 


thought  of  the  nice  girl  at  home,  and  fervently 
hoped  nothing  of  this  would  ever  reach  her  ears. 
No  matter  how  careful  a  man  is,  chance  some- 
times plays  him  a  scurvy  trick.  McLane  re- 
membered instances,  and  regretted  the  world 
was  so  small.  Sometimes  a  cry  of  recognition 
from  one  on  the  pavement  to  a  comrade  in  the 
park,  shouted  through  the  iron  railings,  sent  a 
shiver  through  McLane.  Art  students  had  an 
uncomfortable  habit  of  roaming  everywhere, 
and  they  were  boisterous  in  hailing  an  acquaint- 
ance. Besides,  they  talked,  and  McLane 
dreaded  having  his  little  intrigue  the  joke  of  the 
school.  At  any  moment  an  objectionable  art 
student  might  drop  into  the  park  to  sketch  the 
fountain,  or  the  nurses  and  children,  or  the  back 
of  the  cathedral  at  one  end  of  the  park,  or  even 
the  low,  gloomy,  unimposing  front  of  the  Morgue 
at  the  other. 

He  was  an  easy-going  young  fellow,  who 
hated  trouble,  and  perhaps,  knowing  that  the 
inevitable  day  of  reckoning  was  approaching, 
this  accounted  for  the  somewhat  tardy  awaken- 
ing of  his  conscience. 

He  sometimes  thought  it  would  be  best 
simply  to  leave  Paris  without  any  explanation, 
but  he  remembered  that  she  knew  his  address, 
having  written  to  him  often,  and  that  by  going 
to  the  school  she  could  easily  find  out  where 
his  home  was.  So  if  there  was  to  be  a  scene  it 
was  much  better  that  it  should  take  place  in 
Paris,  rather  than  where  the  nice  girl  lived. 

He  nerved  himself  up  many  times  to  make 
the  explanation  and  bring  down  the  avalanche, 
but  vhen  the  time  came  he  postponed  it.  But 
the  inevitable  ultimately  arrives.  He  had  some 
difficulty  at  first  in  getting  her  to  understand 
the  situation  clearly,  but  when  he  at  last  suc- 
ceeded there  was  no  demonstration.  She  merely 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  on   the  gravel   and   gently 


^  f  t^- 


V7t-v 


I  fervently 
h  her  ears, 
nee  some- 
cLane  re- 
the  world 
^cognition 
ade  in  the 
^s,  sent  a 
Its  had  an 
erywhere, 
acquaint- 
McLane 
3ke  of  the 
nable  art 
sketch  the 
rthe  back 
k,or  even 
le  Morgue 

How,  who 
that  the 

>roaching, 
awaken- 

be  best 
lanation, 
address, 
Dy  going 
It  where 
scene  it 
^lace  in 
ved. 

to  make 
/alanche, 
it.  But 
lad  some 
derstand 
ast  suc- 
le  merely 
gently 


Zbc  Siztb  Mcncb* 


247 


withdrew  her  band  from  his.  To  his  surprise 
she  did^not  cry,  nor  even  answer  him,  but  walked 
silently  to  and  fro  with  downcast  eyes  in  the 
shadow  of  the  church.  No  one,  he  said,  would 
ever  occupy  the  place  in  his  heart  that  she  held. 
He  was  engaged  to  the  other  girl,  but  he  had 
not  known  what  love  was  until  he  met  Yvette. 
He  was  bound  to  the  other  girl  by  ties  he 
could  not  break,  which  was  quite  true,  because 
the  nice  girl  had  a  rich  father.  He  drew  such  a 
pathetic  picture  of  the  loveless  life  he  must  in 
the  future  lead,  that  a  great  wave  of  self-pity 
surged  up  within  him  and  his  voice  quavered. 
He  felt  almost  resentful  that  she  should  take 
the  separation  in  such  an  unemotional  manner. 
When  a  man  gets  what  he  most  desires  he  is 
still  unsatisfied.  This  was  exactly  the  way  he 
had  hoped  she  would  take  it. 

All  things  come  to  an  end,  even  explanations. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Yvette,"  he  said,  reaching 
out  his  hand.     She  hesitated  an  instant,  then 
without  looking  up,  placed  her  small  palm  in  his. 

They  stood  thus  for  a  moment  under  the  trees, 
while  the  fountain  beside  them  plashed  and 
trickled  musically.  The  shadow  of  the  church 
was  slowly  creeping  towards  them  over  the 
gravel.  The  park  was  deserted,  except  by  them- 
selves. She  tried  gently  to  withdraw  her  hand, 
which  he  retained. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,  Yvette  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

She  did  not  answer.  He  held  her  fingers, 
which  were  slipping  from  his  grasp,  and  the 
shadow  touched  her  feet. 

"  Yvette,  you  will  at  least  kiss  me  good- 
bye ?  " 

She  quickly  withdrew  her  hand  from  his, 
shook  her  head  and  turned  away.  He  watched 
her  until  she  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  walked 
slowly  towards  his  rooms  on  the  Boulevard  St. 


24S 


Zbc  jface  anD  tbe  Aaslt. 


'1 


;.i^ 


Germain.  His  thoughts  were  not  comfortable. 
He  was  disappointed  in  Yvette.  She  was  so 
clever,  so  witty,  that  he  had  at  least  expected 
she  would  have  said  something  cutting,  which 
he  felt  he  thoroughly  deserved.  He  had  no 
idea  she  could  be  so  heartless.  Then  his 
thoughts  turned  to  the  nice  girl  at  home.  She, 
too,  had  elements  in  her  character  that  were 
somewhat  bewildering  to  an  honest  young  man. 
Her  letters  for  a  long  time  had  been  infrequent 
and  unsatisfactory.  It  couldn't  be  possible 
that  she  had  heard  anything.  Still,  there  is 
nothing  so  easy  as  point-blank  denial,  and  he 
would  see  to  that  when  he  reached  home. 

An  explanation  awaited  him  at  his  rooms  on 
the  Boulevard.  There  was  a  foreign  stamp  on 
the  envelope,  and  it  was  from  the  nice  girl. 
There  had  been  a  mistake,  she  wrote,  but 
happily  she  had  discovered  it  before  it  was  too 
late.  She  bitterly  reproached  herself,taking  three 
pages  to  do  it  in,  and  on  the  fourth  page  he  gath- 
ered that  she  would  be  married  by  the  time  he 
had  the  letter.  There  appeared  to  be  no  doubt 
that  the  nice  girl  fully  realized  how  basely  she 
had  treated  a  talented,  hard-working,  aspiring, 
sterling  young  man,  but  the  realization  had  not 
seemingly  postponed  the  ringing  of  the  wed- 
ding-bells to  any  appreciable  extent. 

Young  McLane  crushed  the  lette  in  his  hand 
and  used  strong  language,  as,  inde^  d,  he  was 
perfectly  justified  in  doing.  He  laughed  a  hard 
dry  laugh  at  the  perfidy  of  woman.  Then  his 
thoughts  turned  towards  Yvette.  What  a  pity 
it  was  she  was  not  rich  !  Like  so  many  other 
noble,  talented  men,  he  realized  he  could  not 
marry  a  poor  woman.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to 
him  that  Yvette  might  not  be  poor.  The  more 
he  pondered  over  the  matter  the  more  aston- 
ished he  was  that  he  had  ever  taken  her  poverty 
for  granted.     She  dressed  richly,  and  that  cost 


nfortable. 

e  was  so 

expected 

ng,  which 

had  no 
Then  his 
Tie.  She, 
hat  were 
ung  man. 
nfrequent 

possible 
,  there  is 
1,  and  he 
me. 

rooms  on 
stamp  on 
nice  girl, 
rote,  but 
;  was  too 
king  three 
e  he  gath- 
e  time  he 
no  doubt 
)asely  she 

aspiring, 

had  not 
the  wed- 

lis  hand 

he  was 

a  hard 

'hen  his 

It  a  pity 

/   other 

uld  not 

urred  to 

he  more 

aston- 

poverty 

hat  cost 


^be  Siztb  :fl3encb. 


249 


money  in  Paris.  He  remembered  that  she  wore 
a  watch  which  flashed  with  jewels  on  the  one 
occasion  when  he  had  seen  it  for  a  moment. 
He  wished  he  had  postponed  his  explanation 
for  one  more  day ;  still,  that  was  something 
easily  remedied.  He  would  tell  her  he  had 
thrown  over  the  other  girl  for  her  sake.  Like  a 
pang  there  came  to  him  the  remembrance  that 
he  did  not  know  her  address,  nor  even  her 
family  name.  Still,  she  would  be  sure  to  visit 
the  little  park,  and  he  would  haunt  it  until  she 
came.  The  haunting  would  give  additional 
point  to  his  story  of  consuming  love.  Anyhow, 
nothing  could  be  done  that  night. 

In  the  morning  he  was  overjoyed  to  receive  a 
letter  from  Yvette,  and  he  was  more  than 
pleased  when  he  read  its  contents.  It  asked 
for  one  more  meeting  behind  the  church. 

"  I  could  not  tell  you  to-day,"  she  wrote,  "  all  I 
felt.  To-morrow  you  shall  know,  if  you  meet  me. 
Do  not  fear  that  I  will  reproach  you.  You  will  re- 
receive  this  letter  in  the  morning.  At  twelve 
o'clock  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  on  the  sixth  bench 
on  the  row  south  of  the  fountain — the  sixth  bench — 
the  farthest  from  the  church. 

it  YVETE." 


McLane  was  overjoyed  at  his  good  luck. 
He  felt  that  he  hardly  merited  it.  He  was 
early  at  the  spot,  and  sat  down  on  the  last  bench 
of  the  row  facing  the  fountain.  Yvette  had  not 
yet  arrived,  but  it  was  still  half  an  hour  before 
the  time.  McLane  read  the  morning  paper 
and  waited.  At  last  the  bells  all  around  him 
chimed  the  hour  of  twelve.  She  had  not  come. 
This  was  unusual,  but  always  possible.  She 
might  not  have  succeeded  in  getting  away.  The 
quarter  and  then  the  half  hour  passed  before 
McLane  began  to  suspect   that  he  had  been 


250 


Zbc  9  ace  and  tbc  Aadft* 


.1 


I'j 


Si. 


» ' '  !     1 


made  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke.  He  dis- 
missed the  thought ;  such  a  thing  was  so  unlike 
her.  He  walked  around  the  little  park,  hoping 
he  had  mistaken  the  row  of  benches.  She  was 
not  there.  He  read  the  letter  again.  It  was 
plain  enough — the  sixth  bench.  He  counted 
the  benches,  beginning  at  the  church.  One — 
two — three — four — five.  There  were  only  five 
benches  in  the  row. 

As  he  gazed  stupidly  at  the  fifth  bench  a 
man  beside  him  said — 

"  That  is  the  bench,  sir." 

'*  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  McLane,  turn- 
ing toward  him,  astonished  at  the  remark. 

"  It  was  there  that  the  young  girl  was  found 
\ut^l  this  morning — poisoned,  they  say." 

McLane  stared  at  him — aud  then  he  said 
huskily — 

•*  Who— was  she  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows  that — yet.  We  will  soon 
know,  for  everybody,  as  you  see,  is  going  into 
the  Morgue.  She's  the  only  one  on  the  bench 
to-day.  Better  go  before  the  crowd  gets  greater. 
I  have  been  twice." 

McLane  sank  on  the  seat  and  drew  his  hand 
across  his  forehead. 

He  knew  she  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  sixth 
bench — the  furthest  from  the  church  ! 


ui-l 


Twentieth  Centtcry  Series. 

An  important  new  series  of  copy- 
righted novels,  in  convenient  size,  with 
an  attractive  buckram  binding,  with 
tasteful  stamping  in  silver,  at  the  very 
moderate  price  of  75  cents. 

IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS. 

BY  ROBERT  BARR. 

"A  very  readable  and  clever  story." — New  York  Sun. 

"Mr.  Barr  is  a  vigorous  writer." — Philadelphia 
Times. 

"A  charming  story  told  in  an  exceeding  bright  and 
funny  manner." — Nashville  Banner. 

"  Everyone  must  read  *  In  the  Midst  of  Alarms.'  It 
is  a  pity  more  of  such  books  do  not  exist." — Chicago 
Herald. 

THE  DEVIL'S  PLAYGROUND. 

BY  JOHN  MACKIE. 

A  Stirring  story  of  frontier  life  in 
Canada.  It  keeps  the  reader  interested 
from  the  first  to  the  last. 

"  It  is  a  simply,  but  tragically  conceived  story  of 
the  wild  North- West.  It  possesses  the  reality  of  a 
tale  spoken  from  the  life." — London  Literary  World. 

"Full  of  excellent  and  graphic  pictures." — The 
Whitehall  Review, 

THE  FACE  AND  THE   MASK. 

A  collection  of  short  stories  by  Rob- 
ert Barr. 

Other  volumes  will  follow  shortly. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers^  or  sent  postpaid  by 

FREDERICK   A.  STOKES  COMPANY, 

27  &  29,  West  23D  St.,  New  York  City. 


